


Count Your Fingers, Am I Dreaming?

by Taelr



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon until basically the end of S3b, Derek is Derek, M/M, Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale, Post-Allison's Death, Stiles is Derek's Anchor, Stiles is an idiot but what's new about that, halloween party, kate argent is a bitch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-06 06:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 27,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taelr/pseuds/Taelr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a Halloween party at the Martin house, and quickly turns into something much, much more. Stiles finds out that Derek dreamed of him after Kate shot him. And just when the two of them are figuring out the implications of Derek's dream and exactly what they are to each other, Kate shows up again. It would seem that she's come to finish what she started years ago, only this time Stiles is around and he refuses to just stand by and watch her do it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood in the Bathtub

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that it's nowhere near Halloween, believe me. However, I started writing this back in October and just now picked it up again and decided it was worth continuing. So here we are. I am my own beta so any and all mistakes are mine. Please feel free to point them out if you see any! Thanks for reading!

It’s the first Halloween after the nogitsune and losing Allison and Aiden and honestly, none of them are feeling it. But Lydia handed out invitations for a big Halloween party months ago, and she can’t exactly go cancelling them all. She can’t even remember half the people on the guest list, so there’s no way she could get the word out to all of them. Naturally, she demands that the rest of them join her, because she isn’t going to face this alone. Not without Allison and not after everything.

This particular holiday is the opposite of a joke for them nowadays, but Lydia insisted, and none of them can find it in them to turn her down. Even Derek. And though Peter was pointedly _not_ invited, he’s apparently planning on attending anyways. No one actually has the heart to make him stay away, though, so it looks like everyone will be there. Everyone who’s left, anyways.

Stiles tried – and failed – to get Scott to go with him as Batman and Robin. Scott said they’d gone like that too many times before, plus his costume doesn’t fit anymore because apparently he has new muscles. Ha. It doesn’t look like Stiles has a lot of new muscles, but he didn’t go through the whole bitten by a werewolf thing, so. Also apparently Scott and Kira are going to the party together tonight, and their costumes match. Stiles had to actively suppress his curiosity and _not_ ask what the costumes were, if only to make sure Scott knew just how much Stiles was taking this as betrayal. He’s still on the outs with Malia because after their sort of awkward kiss in the basement of Eichen House, she hadn’t really talked to him. And honestly, the kiss had been weird. Not like he didn’t enjoy it weird, just like it wasn’t what he was expecting and maybe not _who_ he wanted weird. So he has no clue if she’s even going to the party, but she and Kira and Lydia have kind of started hanging out, so she’ll probably be there.

So Stiles is flying solo tonight. And he has an hour before he needs to be getting in the Jeep and on his way to the party. And he has nothing to wear. And zero ideas about possible costumes. And there is zero chance of him showing up as Batman without Scott to be his Robin. So now he’s pacing, and a minute later he just flops dejectedly down onto his back on his bed. Because he promised Lydia that he’d be there, and he really _does_ want to go so he can see them all together again (minus Allison, but he isn’t going to think about that because even though they weren’t ever really close thinking about that just _hurts_ ) and he’s thinking he might just dig in the back of his closet for something from Sophomore year and tell everyone he’s pre-werewolf Stiles.

You know, back before the supernatural invaded his life and ruined everything. Well, not everything, but damn near all of it. At least he still has Scott as his best friend. And Lydia acknowledges his existence now, even cares about him. And Kira is kind of cool too. And Malia is weird and naïve but she’s not bad. And Peter is creepy but he doesn’t bother Stiles so much anymore because he’s been keeping to himself. And Derek. Which, yeah, Stiles has no clue what he has with Derek or if he even has anything with Derek, just knows that there is _something_ with Derek and it’s sort of just there.

Thinking about Derek makes Stiles actually think about Derek, and he glances at his phone. Because he’s positive that Derek was invited, even though Peter definitely wasn’t. And Peter’s totally going to show up, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be dragging his definitely-unwilling nephew with him. And that makes Stiles wonder if anyone is actually expecting Derek to show up. Surely Lydia expects it, because she invited him and he’s actually sort of part of their pack now, if they can even call it that anymore. But she’ll be too busy with the party prepping and she won’t think it’s her job to make sure Derek goes to the party. Scott’s so caught up in Kira that he won’t even remember anyone else – he didn’t even ask _Stiles_ , for christ’s sake – so there’s no way he’ll even think about it. Malia might be a Hale, or _something_ , but she and Derek don’t even know each other. It’s Peter who’s been trying to reach out to her, sort of, but they’re still pretty much on the outs. So Derek won’t have anyone making sure he gets to the party. Which means a certain sourwolf is left up to Stiles.

Stiles is absolutely doing this for the good of everyone else and not just because he wants to see Derek again. Because ever since the nogitsune nothing is better than just being close to the people who love him. Not that Derek loves him. Okay, so, close to people who care about him. And Derek hasn’t ever made an actual attempt on Stiles’ life yet, and Stiles counts that as caring. So maybe he’s texting a certain Hale right now. Obviously it’s fallen to him, anyways. So he just does it. And tells Derek to show up in a shirt and pants that can be ruined. To his surprise, Derek actually texts back. It’s only to tell him that _none_ of his clothes can be ruined, and he’ll kill Stiles if anything happens to them. Yeah, that’s not a new threat at all. Stiles actually laughs at his phone. And tells Derek to get his ass over to the Stilinski residence anyways.

Not to his surprise at all, Derek doesn’t respond. Shocking, however, is the fact that Derek is literally _in his room_ like fifteen minutes later. Which Stiles was definitely not expecting. And he might frown when he notices that the window is open and then squeak when he turns to find Derek hiding behind the door like he has a few times now. And the squeak is only minorly embarrassing because this has been his reaction quite a few times now, too.

Derek just stands there, looking unimpressed. Stiles kind of stares at him for a few seconds before his brain kicks back online.

It’s Derek who breaks the silence. “Why did you want me to wear ruinable clothes?”

Stiles raises his eyebrows and puffs out his cheeks like he’s trying to remember. Because he is trying to remember. Because Derek’s sudden appearance has simultaneously scared the hell out of him and made his mind go blank. He manages to get out a very intelligent-sounding, “Uh . . .” before Derek shakes his head and _looks him up and down_.

“You’re not even wearing a costume. What the hell were you planning on doing to _me_?”

Stiles shrugs dumbly, but then his thoughts come back to him finally. “You brought the leather jacket, right?” he asks, trying – and failing – to not sound as hopeful as he is.

Again, Derek looks unimpressed. But he nods.

“Great.” And okay, yeah, Stiles sounds pretty pleased. He brushes that aside and moves to his desk. “So can I ruin your clothes or not?”

He has his back to Derek now, but he can feel the older man’s eyes practically boring into him. Derek isn’t really scary anymore, not after all the other things Stiles has come face to face with recently, but it still surprises Stiles when Derek shows up randomly and it’s still a little creepy when Derek does the broody, stare-y thing. And yes, Derek’s appearance was unexpected. Even if Stiles texted him. He didn’t think Derek would actually come when he was called. It’s kind of a nice surprise, but still a surprise.

Stiles fumbles around in his drawer until he finds the packet of fake blood he got from the costume store the other day, and he turns around to look at Derek, grinning a little in spite of himself. “Because,” he says simply. “We have to make you scary.”

Derek just blinks, _still_ unimpressed, and Stiles is annoyed.

He huffs out a loud sigh. “Dude, not that you’re not scary now. Because you totally are. And all the poor baby high schoolers at Lydia’s party will wet their pants if you do the broody stare thing at them, but we have to make you even _scarier_ than that. Because it’s Halloween. And we can.”

Derek is silent and his expression is blank, and Stiles hopes that’s because he’s processing things and not because he’s ignoring Stiles. It turns out to be the former, which is another nice surprise. “You want to put fake blood on my clothes?”

Stiles nods. “Also you need to rip your shirt. With your claws. Because I can’t do that.” He makes a show of holding up his hands and flexing his fingers. “You know, puny human strength and all that.” And was Derek just staring at his hands? Nope. No way. Stiles isn’t even gonna think about it.

For a few seconds he remembers having the strength to throw Derek across the loft and against the wall, but _that wasn’t him_. And while his body was hurting Derek his mind was screaming and writhing and begging and pleading for it to stop. He hastily reaches up to rub at his face, and realizes too late that he’s dropped the blood. It doesn’t come open or spill or anything, but Derek looks at him a little strangely and he hurriedly picks it up.

For a second it looks like Derek is remembering the same thing, but then his face clears and his eyes refocus. “Fine.”

Stiles blinks and just kind of stares for a few seconds. “You- I- what?”

Derek gives him a look, and it’s kind of that mean hurtful look he used to give Stiles that clearly said “are you an idiot” but now it’s almost a relief to see it because so many people have been so gentle with Stiles after everything and he’s just sick and tired of not being treated normally. He never thought he’d missed being pushed around or unappreciated, but now it’s a relief to have that again. Even if it is from a slightly annoyed sourwolf.

“Right. Blood. You’re sure?”

Derek gives him another look and Stiles trips over his own feet moving towards him, but then he stops. “We should do this in the bathroom. I need you to stand in the shower. Because my dad will flip his shit if he comes in and there’s blood on the floor.”

Derek doesn’t even nod, just moves towards the door, and Stiles follows. It’s almost funny, when Derek steps over the edge of the bathtub and sweeps the shower curtain aside as he does. Stiles has to suppress a laugh, but then he remembers why they’re here and that they’re sort of short on time and he opens the fake blood. Derek apparently left the jacket in the Camaro or something, because it has yet to make an appearance, so Stiles doesn’t have to worry about getting blood on it. Before he starts, though, he clears his throat a little. “You should rip your shirt first,” he points out. “So some of it will get on your skin underneath and it’ll look more real.”

Derek does as he’s told and Stiles actually has to look away. Because 1. Muscles. 2. That thing Derek does with his jaw. 3. Chest underneath. And 4. Did he mention muscles?

It’s actually really annoying, how Stiles isn’t sure what the thing is with Derek because there is a thing but there isn’t a thing and they’ve never acknowledged the thing but there’s some kind of shadow or echo of a thing going on? Or something?  But Stiles doesn’t acknowledge it now because Derek isn’t acknowledging it now so once the shirt is done being torn Stiles starts splattering blood all over Derek’s chest and stomach. He makes sure to save just enough for Derek to dip his fingers in, and then they sort of just stand there staring at each other while it dries. Derek looks blank, like he has a lot lately, and Stiles assumes he’s the only one feeling awkward.

Naturally, then, Stiles reels back a little when Derek talks. And his voice sounds oddly _broken._ And Stiles just stares. Because what.

“I had a dream about you.”

And Stiles is probably the one dreaming, because does Derek actually sound _nervous_? Stiles just stands there, staring. He’s aware that his mouth is hanging open, but at the moment he has other things that need his attention more. “I- what?”

Derek looks almost pained. “I had a dream about you.” He sounds more sure of himself now, but his voice is actually still _wavering_.

And before Stiles can say anything – not that he actually has anything to say, because again, what – Derek goes on. It occurs to Stiles that they haven’t really talked since the nogitsune thing, and even then, the only time he saw Derek was that time in the loft. It’s been a while and he knew it but he didn’t because a lot has been going on lately.

“Kate’s back.”

It’s so quiet Stiles barely hears the words, but when he figures out exactly what he’s just heard it’s a little staggering. He actually takes a step _forward_ , because it isn’t Derek he’s afraid of, and some kind of weird instinct to _hide_ and to _keep safe_ and to _protect_ takes over. And he’s feeling that for Derek. And yeah, he’s going to have to think about that later because right now there are other things to do. Like ask Derek what the hell he’s talking about.

“What.” It’s not really a question because Stiles knows exactly what he just heard and because Derek looks pained and there’s no way he didn’t mean exactly what he said, but Stiles doesn’t know what else to say.

“She’s back. And I don’t know how, but she is.” He looks even more pained, like it really hurts him to be sharing this with anyone, and Stiles feels a hollow pressure in his chest.

He isn’t sure if it’s a good feeling or a bad one but it’s there because he’s realizing that this is the first time Derek is telling anyone this and of everyone he could tell, he’s telling _Stiles_. “Okay,” Stiles chokes out slowly. “What does that have to do with you dreaming about me?”

Derek is quiet for a while, so long that Stiles thinks he might not even answer. But then he does. “They came to the loft. She- she wasn’t alone. And she wasn’t _human_.” His voice hitches a little on that last word, and Stiles aches because he can _see_ the fear and the hatred in Derek’s eyes as he talks about her.

“Wait. Not human?” Stiles feels his eyebrows creeping higher and his eyes widening even more, if that’s even possible. He doesn’t want to think about how contorted his face is and how weird he looks right now. And he doesn’t have to, because Derek shakes his head and keeps talking.

“She’s not a wolf either. I don’t know what happened, exactly, but when Peter killed her – or thought he killed her – it did something to her. Changed her. But she’s not one of us.”

Stiles doesn’t have time to think about the fact that Derek used _us_ even though Stiles isn’t a wolf, because Derek is still talking.

“She shot me. And I went on my knees and I think I blacked out?” It’s the first time Stiles has heard Derek sounding so unsure and vulnerable, and it’s almost scary. A hell of a lot scarier than the fake blood and the torn up shirt. “And then I dreamed about you.”

Stiles really doesn’t know what to say, so he’s quiet. He wonders for a second when he got so close to Derek and then remembers the halting step he took forward because he’s on the verge of taking another one. But he holds back, if only because he’s afraid that he might scare Derek away and make him stop talking. And Stiles really, really, really wants to know what happened to Derek. And how he fits into all of this stuff with Derek and dreaming and Kate.

“We were in the school. In the locker room. And we were just sitting there. Talking.” Derek shakes his head, like it’s the most absurd thing, and it kind of is.

And Stiles just stares because he can’t really do anything else right now and he’s just trying to comprehend.

“And I was telling you. That she came back. And what she did to me. And you asked why I was so freaked out or something like that. And I said, ‘because I don’t remember waking up’ and then I looked at your hand and you had six fingers. And then I woke up, and I was on my knees in the loft. And she was there.” Derek’s voice is shaking now, no, his whole body is shaking, and he looks and sounds genuinely afraid.

Stiles starts a little in surprise when Derek grabs his wrist suddenly and holds his hand up, looking down and studying the hand and obviously counting the fingers. Stiles counts them, too. And then they just stand there, both of them staring down at Stiles’ hand, and Stiles is the first one to look up. Or so he thinks, because he didn’t catch any movement from Derek but when he does look up Derek’s eyes are glued to his face.

“What happened? After you woke up?”

Derek lowers his eyes then, and his shoulders slump. But he doesn’t let go of Stiles’ wrist. In fact he’s holding it so tightly Stiles is pretty sure he’s going to have a bruise later. But he doesn’t mention it. Because this is obviously important and Derek looks like he really needs something or someone to hold onto right now. He shakes his head a little again, and Stiles holds his breath, as if his very breathing might be too loud and keep him from hearing Derek’s answer. “I don’t know. I blacked out again, I guess. And when I woke up I was bleeding out on the floor because there was a bullet in me and I couldn’t heal because it was laced with just enough wolfsbane. And I still can’t believe that I didn’t just die. But they were gone. And nothing else was changed. I don’t know if there was any actual reason for her visit besides just letting me know that she’s back. And she’s here. And she knows where I am.” He looks up again, and Stiles is still staring. But he doesn’t look away.

Stiles flinches because he sees how wet Derek’s eyes are, but Derek isn’t crying. Honestly he just looks terrified, and equal parts relieved and concerned because he finally shared that terror with someone else.

“I’m glad you didn’t die.” Stiles hears himself say the words, and they’re quiet and almost as shaky as Derek sounded earlier, but Derek actually smiles a little. They’re still staring at each other. And one of them is standing in the bathtub and one of them isn’t, and Derek still hasn’t let go of Stiles’ wrist. And it’s really absurd. And Stiles laughs a little and says, “Dude. You’re still in my bathtub.”

And Derek doesn’t laugh but he nods, looking almost surprised to find that Stiles is right.

Stiles moves aside as Derek steps out, but Derek still doesn’t let go. Either he’s not aware that he’s still holding on or he’s aware of it and can’t bring himself to, Stiles decides. So he just lets it be. And he reaches out with his other hand to just touch Derek on the arm, because it’s something he’s done a few times now when things have gone to hell around them, and Derek looks like he appreciates it.

Derek doesn’t talk as they walk back to Stiles’ room, but Stiles tossed the blood in the trash after Derek dipped his fingers in it so they just amble back and then sort of stop and stand there just inside the door. And it’s awkward but it’s not because there’s silence and it isn’t uncomfortable. And there’s this new trust between them, but it feels like it’s always been there and they just now realized it and put it to good use.

“So what does it mean? Her being back?” Stiles _does_ want to know what Derek thinks, but he’s kind of more interested in the fact that of all the people Derek could have dreamed about talking to, of all the people he could have subconsciously trusted, he dreamed of Stiles. And maybe it’s just some silly coincidence, but these days fewer of those are happening and most of the time stuff happens for some reason or another. So that’s kind of what Stiles is banking on right now.

Derek shakes his head, and loosens his hold on Stiles a little, but not by much. He hangs his head, something Stiles has never seen Derek Freaking Hale do. “I don’t know.”

Stiles nods a little, biting absently at his lip. “So in the dream. You just told me. About what happened?” It’s almost weird to ask, but Stiles really is burning to know. It’s kind of eating him up inside.

Derek looks at him sideways, like he isn’t sure whether to read into the question more or not. “Yeah,” he says simply. “I told you what happened. What she did. And you were kind of worried because I was worried, and then I told you I didn’t remember waking up.” He shrugs, looking away, but then something else seems to occur to him and his head snaps around to look at Stiles again. “Why did you step closer? When I mentioned her?” He winces a little at the last word, even though he doesn’t even say her name.

And Stiles hates her. Because he knows Derek’s screwed up because of other things and in other ways but above all, above the nogitsune and above Deucalion and above it all, Stiles hates Kate. Because she made Derek hurt more than anyone else ever has. Because she took everything from him, including his innocence and his sense of self-worth. Stiles feels that hatred running through him, and it must be obvious to Derek somehow because the older man tilts his head to the side a  little and frowns like he doesn’t understand. “Kate’s a bitch,” is all Stiles says by way of explanation. Both to Derek’s questioning look and to the actual question. _You never deserved anything she’s ever done to you,_ he thinks.

“Thank you.”

Stiles jumps a little, turns to look at Derek with wide eyes. Because _oh_. Apparently he said that out loud.

Derek still looks wounded, and somehow even more vulnerable now. But it’s different now, like he isn’t as afraid. Stiles isn’t sure whether to chalk that up to the vice-like grip on his wrist or the fact that they talked about it or something else, so he doesn’t mention it or let himself think about it. He’ll think about it later. Turns out he’ll have a long-ass list of things to think about later.

“Kate’s a bitch,” Stiles says again. Because he believes it with a burning passion and because he doesn’t know what else to say.

“She is,” Derek agrees, but his voice is dead and unfeeling.

Stiles glances at the clock. They should have left for the party five minutes ago. He doesn’t mention it to Derek. Friends or no, this is a hell of a lot more important than a stupid party. All of them can catch up or get together later. He remembers the first time he actually saw Derek with blood on him, and that brings on another question. “You got the bullet out okay on your own?”

Derek turns on him then, looking like he isn’t sure whether Stiles’ words were a jab at him and a reminder of their previous experience with wolfsbane bullets or just an innocent question.

Stiles tries to look innocent because the question _was_ innocent, but apparently he fails because Derek just rolls his eyes.

“Yes, Stiles. I got the bullet out okay. If I hadn’t do you really think I’d be here with you now?”

Stiles shrugs. “You’ve done some crazy stuff and survived when you shouldn’t have. I wouldn’t be surprised.” Then he quiets a little. “I’m glad you’re okay.” And then he starts to babble a little. Because that’s what he does when he feels awkward or like he isn’t sure how something he just said is being received. “I mean in the there’s-not-a-bullet-in-you-anymore kind of way, because I get that _her_ being back means you’re not okay.” And that almost sounds like a jab at Derek’s strength or something, and Stiles just closes his eyes and lifts his hand to rub at them. He frowns when something alien bumps his nose and then he realizes that it’s Derek’s hand because _right_. Derek’s still holding onto him. And he forgot and tried to use that hand. And that’s typical Stiles for you, right there.

So he drops his hand to his side, and apparently Derek didn’t expect it because he sort of lurches towards Stiles a little, and then they both just stare at each other for a few seconds. And Derek’s still not letting go. And Stiles is _so_ going to look like he spent the night with one hand tied or handcuffed or something. But that’s okay because the whole wrist-holding thing seems to be making Derek maybe a little more okay.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when Stiles’ phone rings. And – of course – he goes for where it is in his pocket with his left hand, which Derek is still holding. And he lifts it to his ear before he realizes that the extra weight there is Derek’s hand and arm, which are still holding onto him. And yeah. He hurriedly switches hands and answers the call, only realizing as he says “Hello?” that he didn’t pay attention to who was calling.

It’s Scott. And he’s clearly upset that Stiles isn’t at the party. “Dude! Are you here? How come I haven’t seen you? Where are you? Did you decide to stay home because of the batman thing? I swear I’ll make it up to you!”

Stiles doesn’t even get a chance to answer for like a full minute because Scott bombards him with so many questions and things. And Derek, who can hear everything Scott is saying due to werewolf hearing and all that, is actually looking mildly amused.

“I’m at my house,” Stiles says when he finally gets the chance. He glances at Derek, which, no, that doesn’t make sense because he’s been looking at Derek this entire time. But somehow he still does. “Some stuff came up and I-”

“No! You have to come! You can’t stay at your house, Stiles! That’s boring. And this party is great. And Lydia is literally going to kill me if you don’t show up. Please show up.”

Stiles opens his mouth but doesn’t really know what to say, because he wants to make Scott happy but a party seems like the last place Derek should be right now, and he looks away and bites his lip before looking at Derek as if he’ll provide an answer. As usual, all he gets is a stony expression in response. “Scott, I can’t-” he starts to say, but Derek cuts him off with a shake of his head, so Stiles backtracks. “I mean, I can?” Derek nods once, and Stiles can practically _hear_ that Scott is confused as hell on the other end of the line and trying to figure out what’s going on.

Then he seems to settle for asking later and just says, “Great! Hurry up and get here before all the candy’s gone!” and hangs up.

Stiles lowers his phone slowly and slips it into his pocket, still looking at Derek and still very unsure. Derek, who _still_ hasn’t let go of his wrist. “You gonna hold onto me all night?” Stiles asks sarcastically, laughing and almost choking on it.

Derek doesn’t really look like anything, just blank. But he doesn’t deny it, either.

So Stiles sobers up a little and follows with a poorly-executed burst of nervous giggles. “Yeah. Okay big guy. Well you’re gonna have to let go for like, three minutes, because I can’t go to the party dressed like this.”

Derek shrugs and lets go immediately, but his hand lingers right there by Stiles’ wrist before he drops it to his side. Which, um, weird much? But Stiles doesn’t have time for that; by the look on Derek’s face, he has exactly three minutes to find his costume and get it on.

So he flies to his closet and finds the exact outfit he was wearing when he and Scott went out to look for Scott’s inhaler the night after Peter bit him and their lives started to go to hell. He finds it all in like thirty seconds and holds it up for Derek to review, giving a false smile that asks for approval or dismissal, and Derek narrows his eyes a little before nodding once. Stiles nods and is already halfway through peeling off his shirt when he realizes that Derek is just standing there. Staring.

So Stiles stops and gives him what he hopes is at least close enough to be recognized as an attempt to replicate _the look_ that Derek has given him so many times. Especially the look Derek gave him when Stiles made him try on shirts in front of Danny. Ugh. This must be sweet revenge for him or something.

But Derek _does_ seem to remember himself when Stiles gives him that look, however Stiles’ version of it turned out. And Derek _does_ turn around to face the opposite wall, very pointedly looking away from Stiles first.

And Stiles is a little weirdly self-conscious even though Derek isn’t looking as he strips down to his briefs and hastily tugs on his old clothes. They fit a little differently than they did almost two years ago, but they do still fit. It’s just a little more snugly than before. Even in the shirt and the way it covers his chest and shoulders. Which, okay. Maybe he has developed a few new muscles? But obviously not as many as Scott has. Especially since becoming the alpha. Anyways, back on track, Stiles clears his throat when he’s done putting all the clothes on, but before Derek can latch onto him again he snatches up his black Converse and heads over to the bed to sit down and put them on.

Derek turned around when Stiles cleared his throat, and now he just kind of stands there and stares. And Stiles is getting weird vibes that Derek really doesn’t want to just be standing there staring, and he wants to come closer. On a whim Stiles pats the bed beside him, and Derek’s there in an instant, sitting next to him. Stiles finishes tying his shoes and the moment he does Derek’s hand is there on his wrist again. Only this time it’s his other wrist and Derek’s holding on as tightly as he did earlier. So yeah. Tomorrow Stiles is going to look like he got into bondage or something creepy on Halloween. Or he got arrested and fought the handcuffs. He’s trying to figure out which one’s the better story to stick with when Derek gets up and _pulls_ Stiles to his feet.

And Stiles still doesn’t get what the deal is with the wrist – because wouldn’t it make more sense to hold hands or something? Or would that not be as manly and wolfish? – but he goes along with it and lets Derek tug him towards the door. He remembered to swap his phone and his wallet into his new clothes when he changed, so it isn’t like he’s forgetting anything. “Okay, I’d just like to point something out,” he says as they’re heading down the stairs (and thank god Derek thought to use the stairs instead of the window since he’s suddenly, and literally, so attached to Stiles).

Derek looks at him and raises an eyebrow, but that’s all the answer Stiles gets, so he plows on.

“It’s not safe to drive if you can’t use both hands,” he points out. “So either I’m driving your car, or I’m driving mine. Anyways, I’m totally driving.”

Derek rolls his eyes but he doesn’t argue, and when they get outside he actually _nods towards the Camaro_. Stiles kind of gapes for a few seconds but he doesn’t have long because then Derek’s tugging him along again. And when they make it to the car Derek looks pained. And then he looks like he’s considering making Stiles _climb through_ the car just so he doesn’t have to let go, but then he drops Stiles’ hand and gets into the passenger seat.

Stiles moves around to get in behind the wheel, but before he can even sit there and stare around him in awe for any amount of time Derek’s clinging to him again like he’s all that’s keeping Derek sane. _Or human_. And then a nagging little thought pops into Stiles’ head, but he pushes it away because _no way_. No way, no how. And he just drives. It’s a little weird and distracting to have Derek holding on to him, but he’s actually sort of getting used to it. And when they get to Lydia’s house and they have to get out of the car it’s actually weirder to not be touching Derek for those few seconds than it is when Derek practically jogs over to his side and grabs his wrist again.

Derek looks at the house but doesn’t tug Stiles along again, like he’s waiting for Stiles to move first.

Only, Stiles doesn’t. He just stands there, staring down at the way Derek’s clinging to his wrist, and finally he looks up at Derek. “You realize how weird this looks, right? The whole holding on to my wrist thing? It’s not normal?” He allows himself to snort a short laugh. “It would look more normal if we were holding hands.” And he’s being totally sarcastic. One-hundred-and-ten-percent. But suddenly Derek’s not holding onto Stiles’ wrist anymore and before he can even wonder why he _misses_ the contact warm fingers are twining with his own. He looks down and stares for a few seconds, and then narrows his eyes and looks up at Derek, who is very pointedly looking away. And isn’t squeezing Stiles’ hand as tightly as he was his wrist, but his hold is far from loose.

Stiles stares down for a few more seconds before looking up at Derek again, like maybe if he repeats the process a few times Derek will eventually be looking at him and offer some kind of explanation. But Derek doesn’t, and Stiles finally stops leaving his fingers limp and curls them around Derek’s. And he walks towards Lydia’s house. Because what the hell else is he supposed to do? Something tells him if he told Derek to let go or asked him to Derek would, but he can already imagine the wounded, confused look that would come across Derek’s face and after Derek trusted him earlier Stiles can’t do that. So he just doesn’t.

And they walk in like this is a normal thing.

 

The party is in full swing since they’re late, and hardly anyone even notices when they make their entrance. Contrary to Stiles’ expectations, no one stares or points or even cares that he and Derek are holding hands. It’s kind of a pleasant surprise, because Stiles can’t tell Derek to let go, and because Stiles really did expect to be noticed, and because there’s a strange warmth in Stiles’ hand where Derek’s is there too and it’s like it’s spreading up his arm but it isn’t altogether an unpleasant sensation. And for some reason he wants to see how that goes and maybe ask Derek if he feels it too. Because at the moment he doesn’t even have the guts to properly look at the guy, and they’re both avoiding looking at each other’s faces for some reason even though they’re still holding hands. It’s kind of weird.

Lydia is the first to find them, about fifteen feet from the door. She intercepts them and doesn’t even say hello, just narrows her eyes suspiciously at their hands and flicks her eyes to their faces. Both of them are looking at her, glad for an excuse to not look at each other, and she looks between the two of them and then back at their hands again. “Who are you two supposed to be?” she asks primly, her voice betraying none of the surprise and confusion that her face is showing.

Stiles tries to think of something clever to say, something that could explain everything, but then he decides that this is Lydia, so the truth is probably a better route. “I’m Stiles Stilinski, _before_ werewolves and shit fucked up my life,” Stiles says proudly. “Actually the day after they fucked up Scott’s, and the day they first appeared to fuck up mine.” He ends up looking at Derek because he swears the older guy _flinches_ at what he said. Stiles clears his throat anxiously. “And um, Derek’s a killer wolfman.”

Lydia studies them for a few more seconds, but she’s frowning. “Those two costumes don’t exactly go _together_ , Stiles.”

He guffaws and makes a faux annoyed face at her disbelief, but it’s obvious what she’s really asking without asking at all.

And Stiles feel a little indignant, like she’s just insulted him. And Derek. So he puffs up his chest and squares his shoulders. “Who says?” Something crude about werewolves literally _fucking_ up his life comes to mind because of what she’s asking, but he doesn’t dare say it. He’s still feeling like she just insulted him and Derek. Together. And whoop-de-doo, yet another thing he can think about later. “Maybe scary bloody messed-up wolfman and pre-fucked-up Stiles belong together,” he crows a little too loudly, and a little sarcastically, but it still turns a few heads. Including Derek’s. And Stiles is really not going to look at him right now because he isn’t sure exactly what he just said or what Derek thinks of it. Derek’s still holding his hand, though, so that’s something.

Lydia purses her lips, but then she shrugs and she actually smiles at them. “You look a little weirded out,” She says. “But maybe that’s because this is your first time in – what? Five years? – wearing something other than a Batman suit.” She smirks. “You do look happy though, anyways.” Then she nods at Derek. “I’m glad you’re here. I almost thought you weren’t coming. Also, Peter’s here. If he gets out of hand I’m totally calling you.”

Stiles worries his lip between his teeth again because he’s wondering if Derek would let go of him to go handle Peter. He almost tells Lydia to find someone else to play bouncer if Peter gets out of hand, if only because Stiles doesn’t want to be dragged along because Derek won’t let go. But he doesn’t say anything and Lydia says something about finding them drinks and saunters off, leaving them standing there together. Still holding hands.

And they’re waiting for Lydia by some silent agreement when suddenly Scott and Kira pop up out of nowhere. And they wouldn’t be immediately recognizable due to black ninja outfits and masks that cover all of them except their eyes, only as soon as Scott sees Stiles he shouts and yells Stiles’ name and comes running over and almost bowls a few people over, and Stiles knows who he is right away. Kira comes right behind him, and as soon as they aren’t running anymore they link hands. Kira’s eyes are the only thing Stiles can see of her face but they are very clearly fixed on Stiles and Derek’s hands, even though it takes Scott a while longer to notice. He’s in the middle of babbling about bobbing for apples and bags of chocolate when he stops mid-sentence and even though Stiles can’t s _ee_ Scott’s mouth he swears he can _sense_ it falling open under that mask.

“Dude.” Scott doesn’t really seem to be able to say anything else right now. “ _Dude_ ,” he says again, and he sort of leans towards Stiles and then away again, and then he leans on Kira. He does manage a new word at that point. “What.”

Stiles manages a shrug, and he’s surprised when Derek repeats what _he_ said earlier. “Stiles is Stiles, from back before werewolves fucked up his life.” There’s a certain bite in his voice, and Stiles knows Scott senses that, but he thinks he might be the only one that catches the hurt beneath the fangs. Before anyone can say anything, though, Derek continues, “And I’m a killer wolfman. Courtesy of Stiles’ fantastic makeup skills.” He sounds angry, almost, and Scott visibly bristles. But to Stiles it couldn’t be more obvious that Derek’s just being like this to cover up whatever wound Stiles opened earlier when he announced the name of his costume. It kind of makes him ache in this weird way, knowing that he was so pissed about Kate earlier because she hurt Derek and then, just like that, apparently Stiles hurt him too.

It’s different, some voice in his head murmurs, because Stiles didn’t mean to hurt Derek and Kate had every intention. But it also isn’t, and Stiles flinches when Derek gives his hand a pulsing squeeze. It isn’t meant maliciously, Stiles doesn’t think, but it’s almost like Derek wants to run and hide, to get away from Stiles and everyone else, but he can’t because he can’t let go of Stiles. And that’s a whole other level of weird and kind of scary. Also _another_ thing he needs to think about later.

Scott seems angry that Derek is angry, but mostly because Derek is directing the anger at Stiles. Stiles just waves him off. “He’s had a rough night,” he says, trying to sound light enough that Scott won’t ask and gentle enough that it won’t make things with Derek worse.

Then Lydia shows up again, this time with drinks, and she hands one to Derek and one to Stiles, so now neither of them have any extra hands. Then she turns and starts talking to Kira about something and Scott’s momentarily distracted, so Stiles takes the initiative and tugs on Derek’s arm until he gets the idea and follows him out back. Stiles stops by the swimming pool, glad that there aren’t as many people out here as there are inside. But also glad that he doesn’t know any of the people out here, so none of them are going to care when Stiles turns to talk to Derek.

As expected, Derek turns and looks away, even though he’s _still_ holding Stiles’ hand.

“Derek,” gets him no reaction. So he tries again, a little more urgently. “Derek.” Still nothing. He gets quieter. “Derek?”

And Derek just keeps looking very obviously at the ground to his left, his face carefully blank. But Stiles can still see the hurt.

“Dude,” he says, sounding just as defeated as he feels. He squeezes Derek’s hand a little tighter on impulse, and that actually gets Derek’s attention. He looks at Stiles, but it’s more wounded glowering than looking. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you with the whole werewolves fucked up my life thing, okay? Because it wasn’t you that fucked up my life. It was Peter. I mean yeah me and Scott _thought_ it was you, but then we figured out the truth. I’m not even that upset about the werewolves part as much as I am about, y’know, the rest of it.” He hesitates, swallowing the lump in his throat because he’s suddenly thinking about Allison and tears are springing to his eyes. His voice cracks as he speaks but he doesn’t care. “I’m really glad you’re part of my life, okay? The really fucked up stuff was just everything that happened to us along the way. To all of us. To Allison.” He trails off and looks away, clenching his jaw and trying to blink away the tears.

Finally he just gives in and closes his eyes and suddenly he’s the one desperately wanting to flee, only he can’t because Derek is still holding onto him. “I’m sorry, okay?” Stiles chokes out, and he’s not even sure if he’s talking about what he said about werewolves or what happened to Allison and everyone else anymore.

He keeps his eyes shut tight and tries to hold back the tears, even though a few of them have already leaked out over his cheeks. And even when fingers grip his chin and tilt his face upwards, he refuses to open his eyes, embarrassed and afraid and really not sure what the hell Derek’s even doing still standing there touching him at all.

“Stiles.”

Stiles bites his lip and knows he’s acting like a petulant child, and he finally opens his eyes and looks up at Derek. His vision is blurred with tears and he hastily blinks them away, but that only makes them flow down his cheeks and leaves him redder than before. He’s still staring at Derek, though, and Derek’s staring right back.

“None of it was your fault.”

So Derek knows what he means, then. Stiles doesn’t know whether to be relieved or more embarrassed. Instead of being either, though, he’s both, and then he sort of just slumps forward. And suddenly Derek’s sort of just there, and it’s kind of like a hug except Stiles is actually almost painfully aware of it when Derek lets go of his hand. And then . . . wait a minute. And then Derek wraps his arms loosely around Stiles and Stiles doesn’t move at all, just leaves his one hand at his side and lets Derek take his drink away and set it wherever he set his, and then Stiles still doesn’t move. Because this isn’t an actual hug, but they’ve had trust and hand-holding and all manner of weird, unexpected things happen between them tonight, so why the hell not hugging? It’s just more to think about later, and dammit, Stiles really just needs a hug. So he gives in and drapes his arms around Derek, only he actually squeezes because he needs it, and then Derek surprises him and squeezes back. It lasts a few minutes, and then they both lean away and let go at once.

They only stand there for a few seconds, and Derek starts to turn away. Stiles is getting different vibes now, though. They’re still slightly hurt, but now it seems like Derek thinks Stiles wants him gone. So Stiles holds out his hand where Derek can see it, and for once, anticipates something that Derek does.

Derek stops, staring at the offered hand and then looking up questioningly at Stiles’ face. After only about two seconds he laces his fingers with Stiles’.

“Why?” Stiles asks finally, glancing down at their hands to make it clear what he’s asking before he looks up at Derek’s face again.

Derek looks like he isn’t sure whether he wants to answer, and Stiles might let his expression get a little pleading. Derek starts to look away but then he makes himself looks at Stiles – or that’s how it looks, anyways – and he says, “I found something to keep me human. But also to keep me safe, strong.”

Stiles sucks in his breath because that little idea that hit him when they first got into the Camaro earlier is hitting him again, but he can’t believe it. Not yet. “Your anchor,” he says finally, trying to sound casual.

Derek nods, and then he says, “We should move.”

Stiles doesn’t argue, just follows as Derek walks them around the pool and then back into the house. As they’re nearing the stairs he finally can’t contain it anymore. “Me?” he asks eventually. His voice is quiet, hardly daring to be above a whisper, but it’s like Derek has been waiting and listening, because he looks at Stiles immediately.

“Yes,” he says. And it’s almost curt, and very quiet, but Stiles catches the word.

Stiles gnaws on his lip a bit more, and they’re still moving towards the door. “Me,” he repeats quietly, only this time it isn’t a question.

“Yes,” Derek agrees again, this time a little lighter.

Stiles doesn’t have time to wonder why they’re moving towards the door, but once they’re out on the porch and there’s suddenly no one around he looks at Derek again. “I’m sorry,” he says. And this time he’s definitely talking about what he said about werewolves.

Derek shakes his head. “Me too.”

Stiles frowns. “Why?”

Derek looks confused, like it should be obvious. “I shouldn’t have been so shocked. I did fuck up your life.”

Stiles sighs a little dramatically. “You didn’t fuck up my life, okay? Me and Scott fucked up yours. And before that Peter fucked it up. And before that Kate did. You say none of it was my fault? None of it was _your_ fault. You tried to help Scott when your psychotic uncle bit him. And you didn’t actually kill either of us after we got my dad and the rest of the law after you. So. Thank you. And I’m sorry. I wasn’t talking about you when I said werewolves fucked up my life. It was a lot more than just werewolves. They came first is all.”

Derek listens to the entirety of this short speech in silence, and then he does something pretty unexpected. And, granted, he’s been doing the unexpected all night. But this is very pretty unexpected.

He lets go and walks away.

“Hey!” Stiles sounds almost like he’s in pain, and it’s mostly because he’s reeling from the sudden loss of contact. He hadn’t realized how accustomed to it he’d become until it was gone. And he misses it. In an achy, physically needy way. Like it might hurt until he can hold Derek’s hand again.

Derek just keeps walking, and Stiles runs up behind him and this time it’s _Stiles_ who grabs _Derek’s_ wrist and stops him.

“Dude. What the hell?”

Derek does stop, finally, but he won’t look at Stiles. “You didn’t fuck up my life,” he grits out, and Stiles is taken aback. “You made it hard for a while, but things are fine now. The only reason I’m still alive is because of you.”

A few memories flash through Stiles’ mind, between the kanima and the swimming pool and everything else, and he thinks about it for a little while. “Then why are you walking away?” he sounds more hurt than he intends to, but maybe that’s the truth leaking through.

Derek looks surprised. “Because _I_ don’t ever actually want to fuck up your life.”

Stiles leans back and looks up, frowning. “Well you haven’t so far, and I sincerely doubt you’d do it now. I mean anchor, right? Scott would never hurt Allison.” He flinches halfway through her name when he realizes who he’s talking about, but he keeps going. “She was everything to him. She kept him human when he needed it but she was also his source of strength when he needed to be strong and he needed to shift. She just kept him grounded so he could do whatever he needed to do. And he would never hurt her. Ever.” He narrows his eyes further and looks suspiciously up at Derek. “And you think you’ll hurt me?”

Derek turns away, but he only takes one step before stopping. “I’ve fucked up everyone else’s lives I’ve ever touched. Every one of them.”

Stiles shakes his head automatically. “No. You never fucked up me and Scott. You saved us and protected us and tried to teach us. And even when you were pissed with us you never actively tried to kill us.”

Derek turns back to face him, looking desperate. And they’re standing in the middle of Lydia Martin’s lawn, and Stiles is clinging to Derek’s wrist like it’s his lifeline, and once again he marvels over the absurdity of their location and the situation overall. “I wanted to.” Derek sounds ashamed.

Stiles laughs, and it’s a little hysterical and a little too loud, but when it dies down he’s deadly serious. “Dude. Did Scott never tell you that there were times when I _begged_ him to kill you or get rid of you or something? I hated you in the beginning. You hated me. That was then. This is now.”

Derek looks a little unimpressed with this particular speech, but he’s still giving Stiles his attention and not walking away.

And Stiles decides to take a leap of faith. More like a flying, horrifying, sickening, dangerous-as-hell leap. But he still does it. “So,” he says slowly. “The hand thing. And the wrist thing. Just the touching thing in general. Is that because . . . anchor? Or something else? Because I know Scott wanted to be with Allison all the time and I know she was his anchor but he never told me about _this_ , so.”

Derek sighs like this is simultaneously the most obvious thing in the world and the most frustrating, and then he steps closer. Almost as close as he was earlier when they hugged. And the fact that a hug even happened still has Stiles’ head spinning some. But he looks up at Derek all the same, not really having to look up as much as he did the first time they were this close and Derek was still scaring the hell out of him. Actually, scratch that. Derek’s scaring the hell out of him _right_ _now_ , but not because he’s here. Because all of his body language up until this point was threatening that he might leave. And now he’s just standing there, staring at Stiles with some new look in his eyes that Stiles can’t quite place.

And then Derek does something very, very unexpected. But also very hoped for. Well, the first part is hoped for. The second part is utterly shocking but still good. First, Derek wrenches his wrist away from Stiles, but before Stiles can complain or finish whining Derek just grabs his hand and holds it without even threading their fingers together. And then he does the really unexpected thing. The thing where he uses his hold on Stiles’ hand to tug him closer until they’re pressed together and just standing there in the lawn.

Stiles sees movement in the window and doesn’t even have to look to know that Scott’s there watching, if not Kira and Lydia and probably Peter, because Peter’s weird. But he can’t think about that right now. Because the way Derek’s looking at him is kind of . . . yeah.

“People are staring, Derek,” Stiles says quietly.

Not really surprising is Derek’s response. “I don’t care, Stiles.”

And Stiles is getting really impatient because it’s pretty obvious what should be happening right now that _isn’t_. So Stiles leans up because if Derek isn’t going to do anything about it then Stiles sure as hell is because _what are they waiting for and screw the fact that Scott is watching in the window, probably horror-stricken_.

But something even more unexpected than anything that’s happened this entire day happens right about then. Stiles hears the oddly familiar sound of a gun being fired and somehow even though they’re pressed together Derek seems to be the only one hit, because he’s the one that lurches backward with the impact and goes wobbly on his legs. Stiles has about point three seconds warning before Derek goes down, and they’re still holding hands so Stiles goes with him. And Scott is doing something by the window but Stiles can see out of the corner of his eye that Scott suddenly freezes, and from there it takes Stiles a few seconds to realize why.

There’s a gun pointed at him, only a matter of feet away from his head. And behind it, with a twitching finger on the trigger and a blazing smile on her face?

Kate.


	2. Please Don't Die

The rage that fills him is so thick he can _taste_ it. Because there is no way in hell he’s just going to watch this happen. Not again. Enough of them have been hurt, and Stiles is done. No more. He feels just the slightest hint of relief that the gun is pointed at _him_ and not at Derek, but there’s no doubting what kind of bullet is already in Derek because of the way he looks right then. Stiles’ eyes keep darting back and forth between Derek and Kate, and he doesn’t like what he sees in either direction. He doesn’t dare look to the window at Scott for fear that his friend might do something stupid.

“This is new.” Kate grins wickedly down at Stiles and momentarily waves the gun at their still-intertwined fingers.

Stiles is all adrenaline and no logic at the moment, but he can’t move because even in his desperation to do something, _anything_ , he knows that Kate won’t hesitate to pull the trigger again. And dying or no, Derek would have no use for Stiles if Stiles was dead. Besides, Stiles has had enough brushes with death in the past two months alone. Dying really isn’t on his agenda right now. Especially with the whole anchor thing and the whole Derek thing. He has a lot of stuff to look into and figure out, and he can’t do any of it if he’s dead. So yeah, no dying. Not for him or for Derek. Possibly for Kate, though. The sad thing is right now he can only dream.

That’s definitely a bit of a wake up call, and from there his head is a little clearer. He forces his breathing to slow and his shaking to calm some, but he can’t really control those things very much because while Derek is alive beside him, he’s not actually sure how much longer that alive-ness is going to last. He stops looking between Derek and Kate and keeps his eyes on _her_ , knowing that she can see the panic and the anger that he’s feeling and hating that she looks all the more triumphant because of it. “What do you want?” His voice is a little higher-pitched than usual, but it doesn’t actually waver or break the way he expected it to.

Kate makes a concerned face and sticks out her bottom lip, and it would be half-convincing, _if Stiles was blind_. But he knows she’s just screwing with him at this point, messing with his head. When she speaks she simpers and sounds like she’s talking to a petulant child, and Stiles hates her all the more for it. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry. Did I shoot your boyfriend?”

Stiles feels indignant and saddened all at once. Because _no_ , Derek is not his boyfriend, but things were kind of heading in that general direction and now he’s upset that it didn’t get to play out uninterrupted. Even making out with Derek in front of Scott and Kira and the entire party and dealing with Scott’s horror later would be a better option than all this, and that’s saying something. Because when Scott is grossed out about a thing Stiles never hears the end of it, _especially_ if Stiles was involved in the gross thing.

But back to the present. Stiles is refusing to stare down the barrel of the gun pointed at him, opting for Kate’s disgusting, beautiful, abhorring face instead. He opens his mouth to speak, realizing that he hasn’t given any kind of answer yet besides staring morosely at the woman who will most likely kill him in the next few minutes, but to his surprise – _what is even up with all these surprises today anyways, Derek?_ – it’s his not-boyfriend who speaks first.

“I’m not his boyfriend.” He sounds strained and his voice is gruff and almost quiet, but firm.

Stiles doesn’t turn away from Kate, just keeps looking at her and trying to appear like he agrees completely. What Derek said is true, after all. So why does it feel like Derek just stabbed him in the back while he wasn’t looking? And then Derek keeps talking, and it’s like the knife in Stiles’ back is being twisted. Which, yeah. Fuck. That hurts.

“You misread the situation,” Derek says, and he sounds vaguely amused, though the pain is still very much there in his voice. For a few seconds Stiles thinks Derek is talking to _him_ , but then it becomes clear that Kate is the intended recipient of Derek’s words. “I’m not interested in him. I needed him. For you. I wanted to know where you were and what you wanted from me and I knew he could get it. He’s the brains. That’s all.”

And Stiles feels like crying now. Maybe because it’s such a shock, the number of different emotions he’s experienced today. But also maybe because he started trusting Derek a long time ago, started _saving his life_ a long time ago, only to reach this place. That same small voice from earlier is whispering that it’s a ploy, that Derek’s trying to keep him safe. But even if he believes that – _does he?_ – it still hurts like hell that Derek has said any of this.

But Kate laughs. And it’s melodic and musical, and if it was anyone else laughing Stiles would call it beautiful. But it’s Kate, so it only makes him hate her more. It’s also the worst thing he’s ever heard, he decides. Well, not true. There was the time when he got the news of his mother’s condition before she passed, and there was that other time like five seconds ago when Derek said what he did. Those things sucked. Also when Scott got all weird and werewolf-power-y on Stiles right after he was bitten and thought he was better than everyone a while back. That was bad too. Okay, so basically there have been a lot of worst things Stiles has ever heard. But Kate’s laugh is on that list now, too. It snaps him back to reality when she says something.

“Nice try, Derek, but your little sweetheart here isn’t getting off easy just because you think you can lie. I can hear heartbeats now, you know.” She leans in closer, that stupid horrible hideous look of pity on her face again. Now she nods as she speaks. “I know you’re lying.”

And Stiles relaxes. He hopes it’s not too visible, but it isn’t like he has supernatural hearing. Getting confirmation – even from _her_ – that Derek wasn’t actually just using him is really, really nice. Like a literal weight off of his shoulders. Or hey, even a knife out of his back. He even considers making a quip about how he won’t be getting off at all because she’s here, before he decides against it. But a moment later he discovers that he spoke to soon. Er, thought too soon, anyways. Because he can hear the movement, and knows that Derek is leaning forward behind him, leaning _towards Kate_. And Derek’s voice is deadly and steady and that listen-to-me-or-I’ll-kill-you kind of tone.

“He’s nothing. Not to me. _I_ sure as hell didn’t help save him when he was possessed. I needed him to get to you. That was all.”

And as confident as Stiles wants to be that Derek is lying to them both, lying _for him_ , the look on Kate’s face says he should feel otherwise. Because she’s looking doubtful, like maybe Derek isn’t lying. And she’d be able to hear it, after all. It’s kind of a miracle Stiles isn’t crying right now. He’s been doing a lot of that lately.

“Why protect him? There’s nothing good left in you to save, honey. Keeping him safe isn’t going to change the fact that you’re ruined. I already saw to that.” Her smile is so sickly sweet that Stiles wants to vomit. Or maybe that’s his natural reaction because he can smell the blood on Derek now, the _real_ blood. And the black stuff that he’s been around a few times with his werewolf experiences. That has its own sulfurous stench and is very recognizable, and he hates that he knows it means Derek is dying.

But then Derek is talking again, and no matter how upset Stiles is he holds his breath and listens.

“He’s saved my life before.” Derek sounds unimpressed with her question, bored, almost. And also dying. Derek sounds like he’s dying. “I try to repay debts when I owe them. This might be the last chance I get to pay him back, anyways.”

Stiles is hanging on every word, but he still can’t bring himself to look at Derek. So he’s staring at Kate, seething with rage and hurt the likes of which he hasn’t felt since the nogitsune was the one behind the controls.

But Kate doesn’t look convinced. She’s close enough to touch now, and she squats down in front of them and tilts her head to the side, smirking. When she leans down and prods the gun against their hands Stiles starts in surprise, and then he realizes that _Derek is still holding his hand._ Which, if Derek was trying to be convincing then he should have let go or thrown Stiles’ hand aside, right? And from the way he’s struggling to lean away from Kate now, Stiles knows the older man has the strength. And that’s . . . enlightening, to say the least. Maybe Derek really has just been trying to save him. Maybe Derek does care. Stiles would have literally been on the edge of his seat waiting to find out if he wasn’t actually sitting on Lydia’s perfectly manicured lawn right now. Which reminds him: there are people in the house watching. He isn’t sure if he wants someone to call 911 or not; if they do his dad will probably show up and even if he doesn’t Kate’s sure to do some damage to the local law enforcement, and if they don’t call for help then how the hell are Derek and Stiles supposed to get out of this one?

But Kate’s not watching Stiles. She’s staring fixedly at Derek, eyes narrowed and eyebrows drawn together. She looks suspicious. “If he really means nothing to you then why the hand-holding, Romeo?”

Stiles is still watching Kate’s face, and he knows that she’s staring at Derek’s face. Which means she actually might not notice when Derek’s fingers spasm around Stiles’ for a split-second, just like they did earlier when he was trying to silently communicate something. But Derek’s _still holding on_. That’s kind of one of the biggest things on Stiles’ mind right now. As always, Derek’s response is simple and slightly annoyed, like he can’t believe he even has to explain himself.

“We can take humans’ pain. You know that?”

Kate nods, and it’s barely a jerk of her chin but it’s obvious enough.

And Derek goes on, “It works the other way, too. That’s lesser known, but still true.”

Stiles has never heard that before. And he’s pretty sure someone with supernatural wolf powers would have mentioned it to him if it was a thing. He wonders if Derek’s heartbeat is as calm as ever, or if there was a hitch when he spoke. Kate seems to be studying his expression, and Stiles wonders just how much she knows about what she’s become and what she can do. It doesn’t seem likely, based on the indecision that’s suddenly crossing her grossly beautiful face.

Stiles thinks that Derek has convinced her and whether it’s true or not isn’t actually that important right now, but then Kate leans back and smirks.

“Prove it.”

Stiles _does_ turn to look at Derek then, because being a human means he’s never taken someone’s pain the way Scott and the other wolves can take it, and he’s actually a little scared. Not to mention he doesn’t think he can even do it.

Derek looks pale and his face is drawn, already as bad as it was when he was in the jeep with Stiles the first time he almost bled out after they met. But he looks worse now, if that’s possible, and Stiles knows this bullet hasn’t been in his system anywhere as long as it was back then. Which is bad. Really bad. But Derek’s still sitting upright, so that’s something. “Fine,” he growls, and it’s feral. More snarl than human snark, and Stiles sees Derek’s eyes briefly flash a startling blue.

And then he lets go and if Stiles missed the contact earlier when they broke apart, now he _aches_ for it. No, seriously. It feels like he might die without it. And that sounds dramatic, but that’s exactly how he feels right now. He chokes on a sob but Kate’s so busy looking at Derek that she doesn’t even laugh, and when Stiles blinks back tears and looks at Derek the other guy is just staring fixedly at his own hand as if nothing has ever been more fascinating.

And Kate is beautiful, and she is wicked and she is dangerous and she is conniving and probably actually a genius, but she’s not patient. That much becomes clear when she looks between the two of them and snaps, “I’m waiting.”

Derek – who Stiles couldn’t look at earlier but now is the only thing Stiles _can_ look at – just shrugs, and the movement obviously pains him. Which is probably a side-effect of the hole in his side. It’s disturbing how the bullet hit him in the torso, so much closer to his heart than when it hit him in the arm all that time ago.

“Hurt me.”

For a few seconds there’s dead silence, and Stiles chances a look at Kate. She looks just as confused as he is. But instead of spluttering or asking Derek to repeat himself like Stiles’ first instinct is to do, she just arches one sculpted eyebrow and then grins wickedly. She doesn’t need to be told twice, apparently, because a second later she lunges forward and presses her thumb into the place where the bullet hit Derek. He’s obviously feeling it, too, because he reels away from her and every muscle that Stiles can see is suddenly so taut it looks like it’s about to snap. But Derek doesn’t cry out, and Stiles isn’t sure whether he should be awed and inspired or horrified that Derek is so good at internalizing that kind of pain. Because whoa.

Stiles feels the rage from earlier exploding through him again and rising in his throat like bile, but then Derek is reaching towards him and Stiles doesn’t even think, just reaches back. And it’s actually _blinding_. Scott’s taken his pain a few times, especially when he was suddenly not possessed and had an evil twin of sorts running around, and it was nothing like this. If he had the capacity he would wonder if this is what it feels like for Scott or Derek or anyone else to take people’s pain, and he would consider whether it wasn’t as intense for them because their bodies healed and probably naturally stemmed the flow of pain. But this. This is horrible. Stiles can actually not see or hear or think or feel anything but Derek’s pain for the span of a few seconds, and then it’s still there but all of his senses are in working order again. And there’s this rush that comes along with it, like the power he’d felt when he took Scott’s pain while the nogitsune was the one in charge, but also completely different. Stiles feels powerful but in the worst way, like he’s taking someone’s hurts away and feeding off of it, but they have to be hurting for him to do it.

And when he can open his eyes and he looks down at where Derek is clinging to him like he’s a lifeline, he sees that his veins are standing out on his hand and forearm like never before. And they’re black, webbing across his skin as Derek’s pain seeps into him and dissipates. And it’s actually really awe-inspiring. And Stiles looks up to stare at Derek or ask how the hell this is even possible, but suddenly the ache lessens considerably. It’s still there, and it still burns, but it’s nowhere near as bad. It takes a few seconds of Stiles feeling half-delirious on someone else’s pain before he realizes that the reason it isn’t so bad anymore is because Kate has stopped putting pressure on Derek’s open wound and stopped touching him completely. In fact, she’s drawn back as if burned. But she looks fascinated. Thrilled, even.

She glances at the window then, and Stiles wonders how long they’ve been here like this, how long Scott has been standing in the window and trying to think of something to do. “He’s an alpha now.” Unbidden, the words spill out of his mouth and he actually sees a twitch in Kate’s face. “Trust me, you don’t want to piss him off.”

And just like that, her expression turns from doubt to fury to calm pity again. “Don’t worry, honey,” she croons, reaching out to touch his cheek and stopping at the last moment, still smirking at him. “He won’t be able to find you where we’re going.”

A surprised noise breaks the sudden silence, and Stiles doesn’t realize for almost a full minute that it didn’t come from him. “We?” Derek chokes out, and Stiles impulsively gives his hand a squeeze. The pain is still there, still seeping into him through their linked hands, and it’s still a totally alien feeling.

Kate simpers like she feels sorry for them both, and then she clicks her tongue and stands up suddenly. “Come on, boys. We have places to be.” When neither of them move she shakes her head and looks annoyed. “I said _get up_.” There’s a new edge to her voice that hasn’t been there all night, an utterly threatening one that Stiles doesn’t like the sound of at all.

Even so, he looks to Derek before moving an inch. Derek nods once, and Stiles moves first. But he doesn’t move _up_. He moves to Derek’s side and hooks an arm around him, and they slowly make their way to their feet.

“Good job!” She sounds so pleased, and still so much like she’s talking to small children. Stiles wonders if he could possibly hate her more. “Now let’s go.” But she doesn’t turn her back, just takes a few steps backwards and keeps her eyes on them.

Again, neither of them move. She sighs and points the gun – which has for a while been blessedly pointed at no one – directly at Stiles’ face, and it’s not as close as it was before but somehow it’s more threatening now. “Move. Or I take away your pretty face and your precious little life.”

Stiles feels an absurd lack of fear, but Derek is shaking beside him. “No,” he says before Stiles can spit out any kind of sarcasm at all. But just when Stiles thinks Derek’s going to give in he’s surprised again. “You’re bluffing.”

Kate looks so pleased you’d think Derek just agreed to be her personal slave and do her bidding for the rest of his days. It’s really creepy, actually. “Am I?” She approaches and two long, graceful strides later the gun is pressed squarely against Stiles’ forehead. But while Stiles’ eyes are on her face, hers are on Derek’s. “You sure you wanna bank on my lack of nerve, Derek?” Derek doesn’t even get the chance to answer, because apparently Kate loves the sound of her own voice too much to shut up for very long. “Why don’t you listen to my heartbeat, Hale? Tell me what you hear.” She gives them a few seconds of silence and then speaks slowly and clearly, taking her time with each word so she won’t be misunderstood. “I will kill him without a second thought if you don’t do _exactly_ what I say.”

And Derek’s still shaking, but for a split-second it feels like he stills completely against Stiles. Stiles wonders what exactly Derek heard, whether Kate was telling the truth or not.

“We’ll go with you.” Derek’s words are quiet, and somehow he manages to not sound defeated in the face of something like this.

But Stiles can’t even take heart from the fact that Derek doesn’t sound totally down because Kate moves behind them and presses the gun to the back of his neck, and nudges him forward. “Move. Our ride is right across the street.”

Stiles lets his gaze fall over the mass of unfamiliar cars, actually a little bit awed by Kate’s genius; what better place to hide an unfamiliar car from the notice of snooping neighbors than to make her big entrance when there was a party going on and there’d be a ton of random vehicles all over the street? It’s perfect.

She directs them to the right car as they walk, and at every step Stiles is certain there will be the sound of shattering glass behind them and Scott will come bounding to the rescue at any moment, but he doesn’t. And Stiles is actually not disappointed for once. This time he’s glad that Scott doesn’t leap in without looking first, or even _after_ looking. Because that could well and truly get Stiles – and possibly all of them – killed, and it’s good to know that Scott can see that.

The car looks like any other, and Stiles wonders why it’s always creepy vans and trucks in the movies and the horror stories. _So_ inaccurate. Ugh. They’re herded into the back and informed that any misdemeanor will get Stiles killed, and in the end they just sit there in the back seat. Kate laughs a little maniacally when Stiles insists that he and Derek wear seatbelts, but she doesn’t seem to care at all that Derek is literally bleeding out all over her seats. Which, disturbing much? Even Stiles, who feels an odd (but positive) swell of emotion in his chest every time he looks at Derek now, isn’t overly fond of the whole Derek’s-blood-is-getting-everywhere thing.

 

It’s dark by the time they even leave Lydia’s street, and Stiles is half-mad with panic and worry for Derek so he doesn’t pay attention to where they’ve been going at all. He sees a familiar landmark here or there, but he’s so preoccupied and disoriented that there is no way he’d ever be able to tell where they’re going or how to run away and get home. Or to Deaton’s, actually, because Derek isn’t looking so hot.

Well, actually, Derek still manages to look quite attractive with _real_ blood on him and _real_ , gross, gaping holes in his body. But Stiles really can’t think about that right now. Derek’s still alive, and that’s what’s important. They leave the city long before the time Kate decides to stop, and Stiles had no clue where they are. And if Derek knows he isn’t giving away any signs at all. If anything he just looks like he’s utterly exhausted, and even though Stiles is still holding his hand he can’t take Derek’s pain anymore for some reason. But Derek is still obviously in pain. Stiles is going to throw a fit later if he finds out Derek stopped letting him take it somehow.

Stiles remembers talking on the phone with Scott when he had Derek in his jeep the first time, with a magic bullet in his arm, and complaining that Derek smelled. When Scott asked what he smelled like, Stiles had wrinkled his nose and glanced at Derek before groaning, “Like _death_.” Remembering gives him chills because Derek _definitely_ smells that way now. Only it’s stronger than it was then, even when Derek had passed out on the floor of the vet’s clinic. Stiles hates that smell almost as much as he hates Kate.

When they stop Kate makes them get out of the car and keeps a gun on them the entire time even though it’s abundantly clear that Derek is in no shape to be fighting back or fleeing, and Stiles isn’t going anywhere without him.

And for a minute Stiles gets déjà vu because they’ve walked into some kind of basement or underground network of tunnels and bunkers, and he swears he’s been through some kind of place like this. Derek looks completely unsurprised by his surroundings, and that only encourages the feeling that they’ve totally been here before. Stiles just can’t remember _when_.

Kate moves them into what appears to be a random bunker and then literally _chains Derek to the wall_. By one of his wrists. As if he was even strong enough to escape without the chains. Stiles can’t tell if Kate’s just a really cautious person, or she doesn’t realize that Derek is going to be dead long before he’ll need chains to restrain him. She doesn’t chain Stiles, though, and maybe that’s because like earlier, she knows he won’t leave Derek. But maybe it’s because she doesn’t think he’ll cause any trouble. Stiles _might_ cause trouble, but he also might not. He’ll have to get his bearings and try to figure out how the hell to keep Derek from dying first, though.

Kate leaves as soon as Derek’s been properly secured to the wall and Stiles has been given a death glare that in no way rivals Derek’s but it still a little bit terrifying.

And the first thing Stiles does is turn to Derek. “What the hell was that?” he asks, and he hopes it’s obvious that he’s talking about the whole pain-taking thing earlier.

Derek gives him a withering look and says nothing, but before Stiles can explode at him or decide to maybe just leave him for dead, the werewolf shakes his head. And he looks exhausted, and Stiles hates the way that look tugs at his heart. Derek shakes his head again and mouths what looks like _She’s listening_ and Stiles suddenly understands why he didn’t get an answer to his question.

He falls silent after that, and he isn’t sure how much time has gone by before Derek clears his throat and Stiles looks at him again.

“She’s gone,” is all Derek says, and he sounds so weak and _fragile_.

Stiles is sitting next to him, both of them leaning against the wall. “So does that mean you’re gonna answer me now or..?” He tries not to sound as annoyed as he feels.

“You want to know how it’s possible. Because Scott never told you.” It isn’t a question, but it’s right on point.

Stiles nods immediately, searching Derek’s face and wondering absently how long he has left. That’s such an unpleasant thought that he shoves it away immediately, though, and focuses on Derek when he keeps talking instead.

“Scott doesn’t know.”

And _great. Really great, Derek. That’s totally enlightening._ Stiles huffs loudly and tries to look as annoyed as he possibly can.

Derek rolls his eyes, and once again Stiles realizes that he accidentally said something out loud. “It’s an anchor thing, Stiles.”

Oh. Stiles tries to not look as surprised as he is, but of course he fails at hiding what he’s feeling. “But Scott-”

“It only works if someone’s anchor is a person, obviously. And human. Peter’s anchor is his anger, his desire for power and control. He taught me to latch onto the fury I felt whenever I wanted to shift, and use that to control me. So it wouldn’t have worked before. But then everything happened and you almost died, and I had the dream.” He shrugs, shoulders sagging in a defeated sort of way.

Stiles is staring at Derek’s face fixedly, wanting to know more about the whole anchors thing, wanting to know why Derek’s anchor changed and why it’s _Stiles_ and not someone else. “So I couldn’t have done it before. The taking-your-pain thing.” It’s a sort-of-statement, and also a sort-of-question.

Derek nods, staring across the room at the wall. “Not before you were my anchor.”

And hearing him actually say the words sends a thrill up Stiles’ spine. But Derek keeps talking, so Stiles keeps listening.

“I don’t know when exactly it happened, though. When it shifted from anger to you. I didn’t even know until _she_ showed up the first time and I dreamed about you.” He stumbles a little over the word _she_ , and Stiles automatically reaches out and sets his hand on Derek’s forearm.

“Why couldn’t I take it in the car? Your pain?”

Derek just shrugs and looks pointedly away, and Stiles gets pissed off all over again.

“You stopped letting me. You can do that?”

Derek nods once, and it’s jerky and curt. “You’d taken enough.”

“No, I get it. You’re totally fine, right? It’s not like there’s a wolfsbane bullet in your side that’s poisoning you and you’re _dying_ or anything.” Stiles’ voice is sharper than he intended, but he’s scared. Even when Derek was dying that first time, they had time to do something. And they had Scott to get another bullet. And if worse came to worse Stiles could always have cut off Derek’s arm. But right now they have nothing. Stiles can’t go find the right kind of bullet any more than he can saw off a chunk of Derek’s torso.

Derek looks at him sideways, kind of like he did earlier when Stiles first asked about the dream. “She doesn’t actually need you here. Once she’s gotten the information she needs from me or done whatever she wants to do, you’ll be fine. You can go home and everyone will be glad you made it. It’ll be fine, Stiles.”

And Stiles laughs. It isn’t loud or hysterical, just quiet and humorless. “Oh my god. Do you even _want_ to live at this point? You’re so fucking pessimistic. Jesus.”

Derek glares at the wall across from them, but he flinches when Stiles takes his hand away from his arm. Which, yeah, that hurt. But he isn’t going to let Derek know that. Not right now.

But instead of sounding as pissed off as Stiles expects, Derek gets really quiet. “I told you.” And he sounds _more_ broken now than he did earlier when they had their heart-to-heart while one of them was standing in Stiles’ shower.

“What?” Stiles is confused, unable to put the pieces together. What is Derek even talking about?

“I _told_ you,” Derek says again, and now it sounds like he’s straining just to talk, “I walked away because I didn’t want to fuck up your life. Everyone around me gets hurt. Everyone I touch. _It’s my fault_.”

Stiles doesn’t even know how to respond to that, has no idea how he’s supposed to comfort Derek. But he starts by setting his hand on Derek’s arm again. “This isn’t your fault.” His mind is spinning, desperate for something to make Derek feel better. Or as better as he’s going to get, considering his current condition. “Even if I let you leave, you still would’ve gotten hurt. And I would have blamed _myself_ for letting you go. And like you said; she doesn’t even need me here. Once she’s done with you I can go home. I’m not actually worse off either way.”

Derek snorts, and winces as he does.

Stiles rolls his eyes and takes his hand from Derek’s arm again. But before Derek can act wounded Stiles holds it out like he did earlier at the party. And Derek doesn’t hesitate, just twines his fingers with Stiles’. At which point Stiles squeezes, waiting for the burn and the black veins and all that. But they don’t come, and he glares at Derek. “Stop holding it back.”

Derek does look at him then, but he just looks exhausted and tired of fighting with Stiles. “No,” he grits out. “You’ve hurt enough for me already. I know it’s different when you do it. Not like for me. I’ll exhaust you.”

Stiles huffs and shakes his head. “I’m not the one who’s dying, idiot. Now let me take your pain.”

When Derek doesn’t respond, just keeps staring dully at him, Stiles lifts his hand – the one that’s holding Derek’s – into the air in an act of annoyance. When he drops it and sighs their hands are on his thigh, and he just holds them there for a few seconds. “Come on, dude. That’s what I’m here for. Anchor, right? Keep you stable. Take your pain. Something for you to fall back on.”

When nothing happens Stiles starts to growl, “You know, you’re such a stubborn asshole someti-” but is cut off when that unfamiliar but recognizable burn starts creeping up his arm. It isn’t blinding this time, but his veins are just as black as before and it’s like he can feel the pain traveling all of the way to his heart before it melts away. “Thank you,” he says quietly, feeling more emotionally relaxed now even though he’s still very physically tense with the pain.

Derek snorts, and it sounds like it hurts. “You’re not the one who’s supposed to be saying thanks.”

But Stiles shakes his head. “Shut up. I can’t believe after all this time you still don’t trust me.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I trust you, Stiles.”

And that’s the first time he’s ever actually said it. Stiles stares at him for a few seconds, surprised. But then, what hasn’t been surprising about today? “Oh. Thanks.”

Derek doesn’t respond, just leans his head back against the wall and exhales slowly. His eyes are closed now, and Stiles is trying not to feel panicked.

“Derek?”

The older guy doesn’t move, just grunts, “Mm?”

“Please don’t die.”

Derek blows air out of his nose in a kind of snort, but Stiles doesn’t think it’s funny.

“I’m serious. Too many people have died. Too many of _us_. Because of Kate, because of the Alphas, because of the _nogitsune_.” That last word tastes acidic on his tongue. “I really need you to not die.”

Derek grunts again, and Stiles feels tears prick at his eyes. Because _of course_. Of course he wouldn’t see Derek at all after the nogitsune, and of course he would assume it was because they all had their own issues. And of course Derek would show up again and suddenly there would be trust and anchors and friendship all of the sudden, and of course that was when Derek would die. Of course. That’s just Stiles’ luck, it seems.  He lets out a shaky breath, glad that at least Derek is still letting him take his pain. Or maybe Derek is just too weak to hold it back anymore at this point.

Stiles isn’t sure how long they sit like that, but over time he swears Derek’s hold on his hand loosens considerably. Until it’s more like Stiles is cradling their hands in his lap and clinging to Derek’s and Derek isn’t really doing much. He’s still breathing, at least, but that’s pretty ragged and shallow, and Stiles is getting more and more terrified with every passing moment that it’s going to stop or just slowly drift off into nothing.

He’s crying when the door slides open and Kate enters, and he looks up. He’s not sure what’s stronger right now, the numbing knowledge that Derek is dying for real this time or the hatred he feels for the woman in front of him. He glances to the side and Derek hasn’t even opening his eyes, though he totally heard the door open and Kate walk in, right? Or is he completely out of it? Stiles’ eyes snap back to Kate when she talks.

“Why the tears, sweetheart?” she asks, now standing over him.

 _Because he’s dying. Because I used to hate him but somewhere along the road I got lost and started caring. Because I hate you._ But those aren’t proper answers, and he remembers Derek lying earlier. “It hurts,” he says, and it’s not even a lie. Taking Derek’s pain _does_ hurt, enough that Stiles doesn’t even register it if his heart picks up or falters, so maybe Kate won’t either.

She studies their hands and then shakes her head at him, looking like she pities him. “He _used_ you, honey. Don’t you see that? You shouldn’t be helping him.”

Stiles laughs hoarsely, and the sound cracks halfway through with something that sounds suspiciously like a sob. “You used _him_. And you expect him to help _you_?”

Kate just shakes her head and smiles. “He’s not gonna have a choice.” She has her gun on her hip, and she looks at Stiles for a while before speaking again. “You don’t have a choice either. Come on, you’re gonna help me move him.”

When Stiles doesn’t move he sees something flash in her eyes that looks incredibly dangerous, and he wonders briefly where his fear has gone. But he does get up, then, afraid of what she’s going to do but more afraid of the fact that Derek’s dying beside him. He has to do _something_. And if Kate’s just moving him so she can kill him, Stiles isn’t sure how he’s going to feel about it that he helped. On one hand it would put Derek out of his misery, but on the other it might give them the chance they need to save him. And the latter is probably totally impossible, but Stiles doesn’t care. This might be his only chance, and it isn’t like he has a lot of other options right now. So he hooks an arm around Derek like he did earlier, only this time Derek’s pretty unresponsive and doesn’t even try to get up.

Kate moves to his other side and mirrors Stiles, and together they manage to get to their feet with Derek’s weight supported between them. Her arm is touching Stiles’ across Derek’s back, and it’s all Stiles can do to keep holding on and not wrench away. He’s getting the heebie-jeebies, and really intense bad-touch feelings right now. But Derek’s depending on him, and if Stiles lets go then the dude’s definitely going to end up on the floor. Possibly with Kate on top of him. And that mental image makes Stiles pissed off enough that he keeps holding on and helps Kate walk Derek’s heavy, bloody, dead-smelling body towards the door. Derek’s still breathing, but only just barely.

They make it out into the tunnel only to enter into another underground room, only this one’s made of stone instead of the metal that the bunker they were in before was made of. And Stiles almost lets go of Derek by accident because two things are very, very obvious first thing when entering the room; there are chains hanging from the ceiling and attached to the wall that speak of literally chaining someone _up_ (as in off the ground up. What.), and there are some nifty, very electrocute-y looking devices near those chains. Stiles doesn’t like the look of this at all.

That’s about when Kate lets go and Derek – and Stiles, who is _again_ still holding onto him and had zero warning – are both dumped unceremoniously on the ground. And god. Derek weighs a ton. Just as Stiles has extricates himself from being half-underneath the guy his hand is grabbed in some kind of death-hold and he looks up to see Kate standing right there. She jerks him to his feet, smiling at him, and presses his fingers to her neck. Which, okay, creepy much?

Stiles is getting those bad-touch feelings again when she says, “I’m just making sure you know I’m not lying. Calm down.”

Calming down really isn’t something Stiles can do right now, but he nods and swallows the lump in his throat, and just watches with equal hatred and fascination as she looks him in the eyes and says, “If you help me get him up there” – her eyes flick to the chains hanging from the ceiling –“then I’m going to save him. If not, you both die.” And her heartbeat never falters or wavers at all, so either she’s really, really good at lying or she’s telling the truth. Somehow Stiles thinks he can sense that it isn’t the former.

“Um.” He opens his mouth to say that he doesn’t believe her but she just lets go of his hand abruptly and looks down at Derek.

“Well? Do you really want him to die like this? Crumpled up and unconscious on the floor?”

Stiles wonders whether it’s the kind of unconscious where Derek can’t feel the pain anymore, or if it’s like a nightmare because he isn’t unconscious at all but he’s too weak to move. So he squats down and gets ahold of Derek again, looking at Kate and hoping that his hatred is very obvious in his gaze right now. “Fine.”

She smiles that sweet, disgusting smile that makes Stiles want to throw up, and then she gets her arm around Derek, too, and together they move him into position. And Stiles notices then that there are literal winches mounted on the walls on either side of them, so once they get Derek’s wrists shackled Kate can literally lift him off the ground. Which she does, forcing Stiles to be the one to lock Derek’s ankles into place.

As he does he can feel the bruises on his wrists starting to be more sensitive, and he remembers the look on Derek’s face when he grabbed Stiles’ wrist the first time and stared at his fingers like he was terrified of how many Stiles would have when he counted. Out of habit, Stiles looks down at his fingers and isn’t sure if he’s relieved or disappointed that he only has five on each hand.

“Now what?” he asks, stepping away from Derek and straightening in the same motion. He looks at Kate, and then at Derek, wondering what the hell she’s planning on doing to him.

“Now,” she says, flashing a brilliant smile and pulling her gun at the same time, “You’re gonna move over there.” And she points at the same wall Derek’s on, only farther down so Stiles won’t be close enough to touch.

Stiles rolls his eyes at her dramatics but does as he’s told, and a moment later she stalks over and chains his wrist to the wall. Which, whoa, _rude_. And also what? Because Stiles had been so focused on her and Derek that he hadn’t even noticed that there were chains on the wall. He half expects her to chain his other wrist, too, but she doesn’t. And the chain is long enough that he can sit or stand, but he stays on his feet for now, mind reeling because _there went any possibility of him helping Derek_.

He thinks of the nogitsune then, almost wistfully. Because that had been a _nightmare_ , but if he still had the strength he’d had at that time then he could totally tear the shackles on his wrist apart or rip them free of the wall. But he can’t now, because he’s back to being skinny and defenseless, and he hates it.

“You said you’d save him,” he reminds her, knowing that if she was lying before she sure as hell isn’t going to suddenly change her mind just because Stiles wants her to and says something about it.

“Oh, I will.” She smirks as she pulls a lighter out of her pocket, and then a bullet. And Stiles gets déjà vu all over again. Because that’s exactly how Derek didn’t die in the vet clinic, with a magic bullet and a lighter. There’s a sort of shelf set up that all the electrical-looking probably-torture-devices are set up on, and she breaks the bullet and burns what is presumably gunpowder and wolfsbane that falls out. Then she sweeps it into her hand and walks over to Derek, pressing the stuff against the hole in his side.

And Derek must be absolutely out of it because he doesn’t even move, and the last time Stiles saw this happen Derek ended up writhing on the floor in pain. And the wound isn’t gross and black anymore – at least not from where Stiles can see – but it still isn’t healing. Before he has a chance to ask, though, Kate _sticks her fingers_ into Derek’s side and seems to fish around for a few seconds before she pulls out the original bullet, and Stiles notices then that her nails are claws. She looks like she doesn’t have a whole lot of control and her hands are shaking, but she drops the bullet and hunches over for a while before straightening. When she does look at Stiles she appears to be perfectly normal again, or as normal as she can be, considering the fact that she’s a psychotic bitch. And Stiles thought he hated _Peter_. Huh.

She grins at him then, and Stiles sees the hole in Derek’s side patch itself up and then vanish altogether, but Stiles can’t actually see a lot past the bloody shirt plastered to Derek’s body.

Which Kate then proceeds to literally tear off of Derek, shredding it with what’s obviously inhuman strength and tossing it aside. And Stiles can’t decide whether to retch or get the creeps all over again, because he remembers what he knows about _how_ Kate used Derek and he sees the way her eyes rake over the werewolf’s naked torso.

“Don’t worry,” she says, eyeing Stiles briefly. “I have a lot more planned for you two. Well, for him. I’m sure you’ll fit into the equation somehow.” And then she leaves again.

Stiles might be imagining things, but Derek’s breathing seems more even now, and a little louder. He still hasn’t opened his eyes, and Stiles moves to sit against the wall and just stares at him. He’s very pointedly _not_ looking at Derek’s chest, which now has fake and real blood on it but is healed, at least. This is actually probably the scariest Halloween Stiles has ever had. And it’s not even over yet.

He can’t hear Kate and assumes she’s gone, but he remembers when Derek shook his head earlier because she was still listening. So he keeps quiet for a good five minutes. Or he hopes it was five minutes. His internal clock is probably way off, but he doesn’t have a watch to go by and though the moon is shining into the windows high in the wall, Stiles is attached to that wall and can’t be sure how much time has passed. There are lights that Kate turned on when they entered, lights that shone directly on where Derek was now hanging. She turned them off when she left, and the room is quiet and dim, but not pitch black. At least Stiles can still sort of see Derek’s pale figure and wonder how he’s doing.

Eventually he can’t take it anymore and he sighs loudly. No one answers and Derek remains perfectly still, so Stiles assumes that he’s still unconscious and that Kate has actually disappeared and gone away. He really hopes that she doesn’t do anything absolutely horrible because now that Derek isn’t dying anymore Stiles feels a little relieved, and he really can’t afford to lose that. “You should really not die,” he mumbles finally, leaning his head back against the stone wall and feeling the cold seeping in through the back of his skull. It’s numbing, kind of like the rest of this experience, but it doesn’t actually hurt. So Stiles just stays where he is.

He starts in surprise when Derek whispers, “Not dying, Stiles.”

And then he starts crying again. Which probably sounds dramatic and stupid, but he can’t help it, okay? He’s had a really intense day, and the last few hours alone have been totally draining, both physically and emotionally. He’s had a gun pointed at him several times, he’s taken Derek’s pain, and now he’s feeling so many mixed emotions that it’s just too much. Because Derek is alive. For now. “Good,” he manages to choke out. He’s relieved that Derek’s awake again and not dying but also incredibly worried because who knows what’ll happen to them next? Kate said she had plans. “Does it hurt?” Stiles asks a moment later, sniffing and feeling sort of idiotic for crying.

“No.” It’s just one word, but it’s a relief all over again just to hear Derek’s voice. He isn’t moving as he speaks, and since he and Stiles are essentially chained to the same wall, all Stiles can see is the vague outline of Derek’s full-body profile. At least he’s on the side Derek was shot, so he can see that it’s healed.

“Good,” Stiles says again.

Derek snorts, and it’s actually really, really nice to know that he’s still just as unimpressed as he was before.

They’re both quiet for a while, long enough that Stiles wonders if Derek’s fallen asleep. But it’s Derek who breaks the silence, and at least Stiles doesn’t jump out of his own skin this time.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles bristles automatically, thinking they’re gonna go through the entire argument they had earlier when Derek _was_ dying. “You don’t have to be sorry,” he snaps, but before he can remind Derek that they’re both at fault here and Stiles isn’t dead or dying Derek cuts him off.

“Not about this.” It looks like Derek winces as he says it, though, like he thinks he should be sorry for this too.

“Then about what?” Stiles’ tone is softer now, but he still sounds annoyed. And he is. Because Derek doesn’t have anything to apologize for. This is ridiculous.

“For not telling you sooner.”

And _oh_. Those words kind of knock Stiles off his feet – or rather, the breath out of his lungs – and he doesn’t know how to respond, so he just doesn’t for a while. “About what?” he manages finally, even though he’s positive he knows what Derek’s talking about.

“About us.”

It isn’t like those words give Stiles chills or anything. And he doesn’t even have the chance to respond because Derek keeps talking.

“About the anchor thing. I was scared. After I dreamed about you. So I stayed away.”

Stiles snorts rather loudly, and he doesn’t even have the extra emotions right now to care that he should probably be embarrassed. “Until you didn’t.”

Even in the low light Stiles swears that Derek looks pained. “I think I knew right away, but I was in denial about it. And I didn’t see how telling you would change anything. And then you asked me to come.”

“And you did.” Stiles realizes he’s still feeling the surprise that hit him earlier when Derek actually did show up.

“I didn’t realize how wrong I was or how much I needed you until then,” Derek says, and he’s almost snapping at Stiles now, but it’s like he can’t help it. Like Stiles just accidentally poked a soft spot and Derek’s natural reaction is to growl about it. “I couldn’t exactly say no.”

“You didn’t say anything,” Stiles points out, but he isn’t mad that Derek seems agitated. It’s understandable, really. “You just showed up and hid creepily behind my door like the first time, when you were a fugitive and my dad almost came in my room.” The memory is almost mediocre now; Scott and Stiles thought they had a lot on their hands back _then_.

Derek doesn’t say anything to that, and Stiles afraid that he won’t talk anymore at all. He didn’t realize until now how comforting it is just to be able to talk to someone he doesn’t hate instead of sitting there and mulling over everything.

And Stiles is so desperate that he says, “I’m glad you came, though. And thank you for putting up with my ridiculous costume ideas.” He almost feels the need to apologize for his own costume again before he remembers that they pretty much reconciled about it earlier.

“Killer wolfman was really original,” Derek agrees, sounding grave, and Stiles can’t help the short laugh that bursts out of his mouth.

“Shut up,” he mumbles. “I was short on time. I’m impressed with my own ingenuity.” He can’t see Derek’s face properly, but he swears he can feel Derek roll his eyes. Kind of like he could feel Scott’s mouth fall open earlier. And that reminds him of Scott. Who’s probably going out of his mind with worry. And his dad, who might or might not know that his son was kidnapped by a supposedly dead murderer. God, he’s probably freaking out if he knows. And if he doesn’t know then Stiles hopes it stays that way for a while longer. He studies Derek again and says, “I get the feeling this isn’t the first time Kate decided to go all creepy and chain you up and tear off your shirt.” And okay, that last part was totally unnecessary, but still. That had apparently freaked him out a lot more than he initially thought.

Derek makes a thoughtful noise. “Not the first time,” he agrees. “Last time I was here Allison still didn’t know about her own family. Kate brought her here because she was trying to teach her or something.” And Derek actually sounds sad, like losing Allison hurt him, too. Which doesn’t make sense, because the Argents and the Hales had so much to hate each other for, but Stiles supposes everyone was pretty hurt by Allison’s death. And Chris and Derek had kind of worked together or something – and been arrested together? Scott had mentioned something about it – so it actually made a little bit of sense if they’d started to find some sort of camaraderie. Stiles himself hadn’t even been close to Allison, but it was devastating to lose her. More so to Scott and Allison’s dad than anyone else, but Stiles and Scott were so close that when Scott was distraught and upset it always felt like Stiles automatically was, too.

It isn’t hard to remember how freaked out Scott had been when Allison found out about what he was, and furthermore how freaked out Allison had seemed when they saw her. She accepted it relatively quickly, though, and Stiles has to force thoughts of how happy she and Scott were for a while out of his mind.

“Oh,” He says finally, realizing that he hasn’t answered what Derek said.

They’re quiet again after that, and Stiles is searching for something to say when Derek speaks up. “Scott found me here. He might find us again, if he remembers where to look. But she’s used this place before, so he might think she wouldn’t be stupid enough to come here again.”

Stiles can’t tell if that’s supposed to be reassuring or concerning, so he sort of settles for both. “Right.” And that’s when he remembers his phone and reaches for his pocket, but it’s gone. Which is weird, because he doesn’t remember handing it over or having Kate take it away from him. She must have either slipped it away from him or it might have fallen out of his pocket when he and Derek went down on Lydia’s lawn. He wasn’t paying attention to that at all at the time, and he kicks himself for it now.

Just then there’s a vibrating noise, though, and something on the shelf across the room lights up. And that’s definitely Stiles’ phone. And the little noise it makes is also definitely Scott’s text tone. Stiles wonders when Kate got it off of him, or if she found it on the ground and snatched it up before he noticed. When the phone goes blank a new noise breaks the silence and what Stiles assumes must be Derek’s phone lights up, right beside where Stiles’ is. “That’s Scott,” he says, sounding as exhausted as he suddenly feels.

Derek grunts like he did earlier, and Stiles feels freaked out and worried all over again. Because the last time he heard that noise Derek was definitely dying. “Please don’t die,” he blurts out, and that actually gets Derek to turn his head and look at him.

“Not dying, Stiles,” Derek repeats what he said earlier. Stiles just wishes he could read Derek’s expression, but there’s not enough light and from this angle it’s hard to tell.

Stiles opens his mouth to say something – even though he’s really not sure _what_ that something is going to be – but Derek speaks first.

“Not yet.”

And Stiles wants to rip out of the chains and go smack Derek for being so pessimistic. Even if that’s totally counterproductive to the situation and would probably end up with Stiles hurting Derek’s feelings again. “Dude,” is all he says, his annoyance sounding obvious in even just that one word.

And he can see Derek roll his eyes this time. “Why else would she have me here?” Derek demands, and Stiles starts groping for some kind of positive response, but he doesn’t have one.

“Maybe she needs information,” Stiles says weakly. “She doesn’t really seem like she knows a lot about what she is now or how to control herself. Maybe she just needs your help.”

Derek snorts again, and it’s so scornful Stiles actually feels hurt. “Maybe,” Derek says, but he doesn’t sound convinced at all. “But do you really think she’ll just let me – let us – go after she gets what she wants?”

Stiles doesn’t have anything to say to that, so he just sighs. “No,” he mumbles, defeated. “But jeez, have a little hope, will you?”

And Derek laughs. It’s loud and startling, and Stiles feels the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck prickle and stand up. “Not for me,” he says, and it sounds so sharp and sure that Stiles feels simultaneously sorry for Derek and also angry with him. “I had hope after Paige. And then after Kate, even though that took a few years to get back. When my sister showed up I thought maybe, but now she’s gone again because I was a disappointment. And just when I thought maybe, maybe Kate just came back to prove a point or something and I could be honest with you of course she came back and ruined everything. And now I’m going to die.” He sounds so broken, but there’s a lot of anger underneath the words, and Stiles sees Derek’s eyes flashing blue again. “And it doesn’t matter, because Isaac’s gone and Cora left and it’s all my fault. No one _cares_!”

The last part is almost a roar, and Stiles just stares. Because they’ve had a few moments where Derek is vulnerable and honest and Stiles tries to be there, and even vice versa, but never like this. Never with the kind of anger and hurt that’s pouring off of Derek so strongly that Stiles can feel it even with his weak human senses. Or maybe that’s the anchor thing. He has a lot of anchor-related things to ask about later, but now is obviously really not the time.

“I care.” He doesn’t actually think to say the words, they just sort of spill out of his mouth. And they’re quiet but honest, even if the kind of weak, probably-cheesy stuff that Derek really doesn’t need to hear right now.

And Derek just looks at him, eyes still blazing electric blue. That fades over the next few minutes of silence, though, until Stiles can’t see Derek’s eyes beyond them being dark spots on Derek’s face. Human eyes. Derek slumps more than he was before, even though he’s strung up and his shoulders weren’t really squared before. “I know.” The words are so quiet Stiles barely catches them, but somehow he does.


	3. Apologies

Apparently Stiles severely underestimated how exhausted he was and his capabilities of falling asleep in a place as horrifying as wherever Kate is keeping them, because the next thing he knows he’s waking up. He doesn’t move, just keeps his eyes closed even though he’s suddenly very awake. It takes him a few seconds to realize where he is and to remember everything that happened, and he starts to open his eyes and turn his head to look at Derek. But then he hears voices and gets so caught up in trying to hear what’s being said that he forgets all about looking around.

Kate’s voice is the first one he can make out, and she isn’t whispering but her voice is far from loud. Derek’s is the other voice, and Stiles has mixed feelings about that. Because at least Derek’s talking, which means that he’s okay. Probably. But at the same time, why is he talking to Kate? His voice sounds urgent while hers has that lilting quality to it that Stiles hates so much.

It’s a few more seconds before he can actually grasp what they’re saying, and by then Derek is speaking again.

“Let him go. I told you, I only needed him t-”

“To get to me,” Kate finishes for him, and Stiles’ eyes are still closed but something about her voice makes him think that she’s shaking her head with that faux sympathetic expression on her face. “And I’ve told you, not gonna happen. Maybe a year ago, or two, when he didn’t really know what was going on and he hated you. But now the first thing he’s going to do when he gets out of here is go running to his alpha and start all kinds of trouble I really don’t want to deal with right now.”

“Why would he save me?” Derek asks, and Stiles’ throat tightens even though he’s positive that Derek is lying. “We aren’t pack. We aren’t friends. The only time we’ve ever worked together is when some kind of life-and-death situation is going on, and usually he’s only there because Scott’s involved.” It sounds like he’s going to keep talking, but Kate cuts him off.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong. I don’t know what you two have going on between you, or if it’s just something _he_ has going on for you, but he cares.” She sighs loudly enough for Stiles to easily hear it. “Besides,” she says, sounding mock distressed, “Even if I wanted to let him go, I can’t. I saw him take your pain. And that was great, but when I tried it nothing happened.” Suddenly she sounds dangerous. “What is it? Why doesn’t it work for me but it does for you two? Is there some kind of bond that’s necessary? Is it something else?”

When Derek speaks he sounds strained, but not the same way he did before; when he was dying he sounded weak and pained, but now he sounds like he’s on the verge of roaring at her instead of speaking. Somehow, though, he doesn’t, and Stiles realizes belatedly that they still think he’s asleep and Derek is _going out of his way_ to not wake Stiles up. Interesting. “It has to be consensual.”

Stiles is confused for a split-second about what Derek’s even talking about, but then Derek says more and he feels like an idiot for not getting it right away.

“Taking someone’s pain is different when it’s a human doing it. When we take it usually the human – or animal, or whatever – that we’re taking it from is in serious distress and is subconsciously wishing the pain away, so it’s enough. They can withhold it if they really want to and they know what they’re doing, but that’s rare. This kind of situation is different, because humans don’t heal and because we do, so our bodies’ natural reactions aren’t to give away the pain so much as to suppress it and get rid of it by ourselves. Humans don’t heal the same way, so they have to be actively intending to take pain in order to do it, while we do it automatically. And we have to make a conscious decision to let them take it, where humans just let it happen. I’m guessing whoever you tried to do it with didn’t want to deal with your issues. Or it just doesn’t work for you, whatever you are.”

Stiles wonders how much of what Derek’s saying is true, considering the fact that humans can’t actually take anyone’s pain the same way werewolves can unless they’re in an anchor situation. But Kate doesn’t know that, so he’s trying to sift through what makes sense and what doesn’t. He barely suppresses a snort at the last thing Derek said, but Kate sounds anything but amused when she responds.

“Mexico, Derek,” she says harshly, like that’s supposed to mean something. “I know there are a lot of things I had no clue about when I was a hunter, but even _I_ heard the rumors about what was living in those ruins.”

Derek says nothing, but Stiles can almost sense that the guy has come to one conclusion or another. “Werejaguars,” he deadpans, and he sounds so unimpressed that Stiles fights off the urge to bark a laugh. Because what. Werejaguars? Is that a thing?

“Bingo.” Kate sounds pleased. “We’re different than you, Derek, but have a lot of the same strengths and weaknesses. It makes sense that we’d be able to do the same things, especially as far as pain is concerned.”

She keeps talking, but Stiles tunes her out, trying to remember if he’s ever even heard of werejaguars or maybe how the hell to kill them. He doesn’t think so, so he starts thinking about how to kill werewolves and wondering if those tactics might be applicable in Kate’s situation. He hopes so. Killing her would be nice.

It’s kind of a disturbing thought, but he shakes that off. After everything that happened with the nogitsune it hasn’t exactly been that rare of an occurrence for him to think of killing people or imagine their blood, hot and red on his fingers and drying under his nails. Disturbing and terrifying, yes, but it happens all the same. Now is the first time he thinks his desire to kill someone is warranted, and it doesn’t bother him so much that he can imagine feeling Kate’s throat close up beneath his hands.

Derek’s voice brings him back to present, though, and the pleasant thought of Kate’s death is washed away with it. “Promise me you won’t kill him too.” And it’s the _too_ that has Stiles freaking out a little bit. He still doesn’t open his eyes or move, though, afraid that if he does the talking will stop and he’ll never hear Kate’s answer.

“You know Derek,” she simpers, her voice smiling, “If I didn’t know better I’d think you actually care about him.”

“I don’t.” Derek snaps the words, and there’s so much heat behind them that Stiles would have believed him if it hadn’t been for their heart-to-heart of sorts at Lydia’s poolside and then their almost-kiss in her front yard.

And thinking about that makes him angry all over again, because if it wasn’t for Kate Stiles totally would have _kissed Derek_. And there probably would have been more hugging, and more hand-holding, and more sarcasm on Stiles’ part and more of Derek’s awkward, sort-of-there sort-of-not ability to communicate. And Stiles is boiling now because Kate just had to show up and ruin it all.

“Shhhh,” Kate croons, and something tells Stiles that she’s touching him, touching Derek, even though he can’t see. It’s like he can feel how tense Derek is all of the sudden even though the werewolf isn’t even talking. “You never were very good at lying to me, sweetheart.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, and Stiles has to remind himself for the thousandth time not to bolt upright and launch himself at Kate even though he’s chained and he’ll never reach her. She’s teasing Derek now, just toying with him, and it makes Stiles livid. To the point where he feels on the brink of actually snarling at her. He’s just barely holding onto his control, and it isn’t like he’s gonna bust out fangs and facial hair and claws if he loses it but he’s probably vibrating where he’s sitting against the wall and he really doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s awake. Not yet.

Derek must have opened his mouth to speak because suddenly there’s the sound of teeth snapping shut and Kate saying, “No. Listen to me. I’m not letting him go. I’m gonna get the information I need from you two, and then I’m gonna put you out of your misery like I was supposed to years ago, and then I’m not sure what I’ll do to him after that.”

Derek does snarl, then, but by some miracle Stiles doesn’t flinch or jump at all, though his skin crawls when he can feel someone’s gaze on him momentarily. It feels like it goes away after a few seconds, though, and he stops feeling so twitchy after that.

“You were supposed to be there, Derek. You and your sisters. I almost came after you and finished you all off right away afterwards, but one of them was an alpha and the other disappeared too fast to catch, and I let you go because I knew how messed up you’d be living with that kind of guilt. I figured it would leave you dead enough. I never suspected your uncle, and he was so far gone I thought I’d let him rot away in his own corpse at that hospital.”

Stiles can feel the tension rolling off of Derek now, and he just barely keeps from mirroring it. An anchor thing? Maybe. He’ll have to ask later. If there is a later and Kate isn’t going to try killing anyone now. But then there’s the sound of footsteps moving away, and a moment later the high-pitched complaint of the metal door as it’s slid open. Stiles opens one eye to peek after Kate and watch her go, and he catches a glimpse of her back before she turns around and he snaps his eye closed again. She doesn’t seem to notice, or if she does she doesn’t care, because she closes the door a moment later.

He opens both of his eyes after that and turns to look at Derek, but he doesn’t say anything yet. Who knows how sound carries in the network of tunnels and rooms they’re in and Kate can’t be too far away yet, so he doesn’t want to break the silence or say anything she shouldn’t hear. Derek’s just there, looking stronger than he did the day before. Or maybe he just looks better because now there’s sunlight filtering in through the high windows and he doesn’t look as pale as he did last night. And Stiles thought he could handle the quiet, he really did, but even as Derek’s looking healthier he also looks beaten, like he’s healing physically but things aren’t going so well emotionally. Stiles is on the brink of asking if Derek’s okay or even just saying his name, but what falls out of his mouth instead is a whispered, “I’m awake.”

Derek doesn’t turn and look, but he nods. “I knew.”

Stiles wonders if Derek knew earlier when Kate was still around or if he knew when Stiles moved. He doesn’t even get the chance to ask before Derek is answering that for him.

“I could hear your breathing shift. And your pulse. She was so focused on me that she didn’t notice.”

Stiles nods even though Derek isn’t looking, processing the information. “Because of . . . the anchor thing? Or just because?” What he’s really asking is if Derek noticed because of whatever kind of bond they have going on or if he noticed because he’s spent enough time around Stiles that he recognizes his heartbeat and his breathing and can discern when it’s changing or becoming irregular.

“Both,” Derek says, seeming to read Stiles’ mind and understand exactly what was meant with the questions.

Stiles nods again and sits up to stretch his back a little, finding it tense and cramped and uncomfortable. He feels more tired than he did the night before, so he lets his head fall lightly back against the wall behind him and stares up at the ceiling. And if his mouth is open it’s not like anyone’s watching or cares. Derek doesn’t say anything about it. He thinks the exhaustion is only partly from all of the excitement over the past twelve hours – it hasn’t been more than twelve hours, right? – but mostly from his outlook on life in general. Honestly, Stiles had experienced enough brushes with death in the last two years to go around for a whole group of people throughout their entire lifetimes, and yet it seems like these near-death situations just keep cropping up. Stiles isn’t even angry about it anymore. He’s still scared, like now, but at the moment his fear is more for Derek than himself. Most of all, though, he just feels tired. Tired of the almost dying and the constant terror and the inability to control what’s happening to him and the fury he feels when he has to watch the people he cares about being hurt.

And yeah, he totally just zoned out for a while, but Derek hasn’t said anything so it doesn’t really feel like that big of a deal that he wasn’t paying attention. “I’m tired,” he says anyways, just in case Derek needed some kind of explanation. He actually laughs a little hollowly after that, amused in the most humorless kind of way at himself; he used to never be still and never shut up even if he tried, and now it feels like too much effort to move and too much brainpower to speak.

Derek _does_ turn to look at him when Stiles laughs, narrowing his eyes. He doesn’t look annoyed, though, just confused. Probably because Stiles laughed, but maybe because of something else.

Derek doesn’t say anything, though, so Stiles returns to gazing at the ceiling in silence. He scoffs and whips around to look when Derek deadpans, “You look like shit.”

Stiles snorts again, leaning back and staring at Derek, trying to understand where the hell that came from. “Excuse me?” He splutters, actually feeling a little bit offended. Maybe he isn’t as tired as he thought, because he pulls his knees up and wraps his arms around them, glaring at Derek over the top. “Thank you, Sunshine,” he says, trying a new tactic – dripping sarcasm – as he continues, “You’re looking _so_ great right now too.”

Derek actually flinches away from him at the sarcasm, and the look on his face is just barely reminiscent of the one he wore at Lydia’s party when Stiles first announced what his costume was. And that makes guilt and sadness swell inside of him so quickly that he just sits there, staring at Derek and feeling pathetic.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, lowering his eyes and licking his lips nervously.

“No, I’m sorry.” Derek’s voice is hard and biting, with that edge Stiles has learned to identify as the mask that hides how hurt the guy really is. And he sounds just as pissed off as he keeps talking. “For ever staying away in the first place. Because you’re so right, Stiles, none of this is my fault and of course you’d be here anyways if I’d just done what I planned and stayed away and now she’s going to kill me and do god knows what to you but of course she’d have taken you and done it to you even if I wasn’t even with you last night.” And yeah, okay, that hurts, but Stiles keeps his eyes down and listens without interrupting, expecting it to end soon. His head snaps up and he stares in surprise when Derek hisses, “I’m sorry I ever met you.”

And it could be taken a lot of ways, he supposes, could mean that Derek is just upset because Stiles is in danger or a thousand other things, but Derek sounds so angry when he says it and so sincere that Stiles just sits there and stares for a good minute before his brain can actually kick back online and he can force himself to say something. He’s trying for cruel, trying for something that’ll cut Derek just as deeply as Derek cut him, but all that falls out of his mouth is a small, surprised noise and a quiet, “Oh.”

He blinks a few more times than he normally would, hating that there are tears burning his eyes and starting to burn his vision. He tries his best to keep them back and to wish them away, but wishing only makes it worse. So he turns away, shuffling around until his back is to Derek and he’s facing a dark wall. Just before Derek is out of his line of sight Stiles thinks he sees the werewolf looking regretful and like he’s about to apologize or explain himself, but Stiles turns anyways and doesn’t look over his shoulder. He’s still hunched over his own knees, confused and now crying, and it makes him feel worse that Derek’s there. Because even if he manages to keep his body from shaking and his sniffs and breaths from being very loud, Derek knows. There’s no way Derek can’t tell that Stiles is crying, and it’s actually really humiliating.

And Stiles has seen Derek cry before and has been there and tried to comfort him but never like this. Never was he the reason that Derek was crying, so it burns that he has to sit here and let out the emotions that refuse to hide themselves away while Derek is right there and watching and listening and even if Derek isn’t amused or slightly scornful it’s still like salt in the wound Derek just opened up.

And then, of course, _of course_ , Stiles’ mind chooses that moment to go into overdrive and he gets bombarded with so many memories of hating Derek and then tolerating Derek and then caring about Derek and saving Derek and being saved by Derek anyways because for whatever reason neither of them could ever actually condemn the other, even back when they didn’t get along at all. And he wonders how Derek would actually have fared those few times that Stiles helped, if Stiles hadn’t been around. He wonders if Derek hates him for ever trying to help in the first place or if he just doesn’t care anymore. And it isn’t like Derek owes him anything, because they’ve pretty much evened the score over the past few weeks so they don’t really owe each other anything but after trying to help and listening when Derek almost broke down while standing in Stiles’ bathtub and after Stiles put up with the weird wrist-holding and then hand-holding he thought maybe it meant something.

That’s about when it occurs to him that Derek’s talking to him, but he’s been so caught up in his own mind that he isn’t listening. It even takes a few seconds for him to stop being wrapped up in his emotions before he can grasp the fact that Derek isn’t even saying anything important, just saying Stiles’ name on occasion and then waiting to see if he’ll respond. And Derek sounds so broken and quiet himself that Stiles actually feels bad for a few seconds, feels guilty and like that brokenness is _his_ fault, and then he snaps out of it and gets pissed because he’s feeling so many conflicting things right now.

“Stiles,” Derek says again, and he sounds more desperate with every repetition of the word until Stiles loses it and lurches around to face him, trying to glare but feeling his face crumple as more tears come instead.

“What?” He hisses, sounding just as pissed as he feels but also sounding just as hurt. Maybe even more infuriating than the guilt that’s still rising in him is the fact that no matter how upset he is, he can’t get away or flee the room or have any privacy, even if only for a few minutes. Derek is there, and Stiles can’t escape.

“I’m sorry.” And it sounds like he means it now, but in a different way than he did earlier. Earlier the words were angry and had the slightest hint of sarcasm and they hurt because they were like a punch being thrown but now they’re quiet and broken and desperate and there’s no sarcasm at all and they hurt because Stiles isn’t sure whether he should feel guilty that he met Derek or pissed that he cares so much.

But the ache isn’t enough to cover the anger, and he snaps, “Me too,” before he can think better of it, the words course and hard instead of the soft ones he intended.

Derek just stares at him for a few seconds, and then he sags a little more, like he’s defeated. “I told you I’d fuck up your life.”

And then Stiles feels indignant, like he needs to defend Derek from himself even though he also kind of wants to be the one hurting Derek right now, but before he can get a word in edgewise Derek’s talking again.

“And I knew it the day that I met you. That I would. I always mess up people’s lives, but the ones who get it the worst are the ones who deserve it the least.”

Before Stiles can argue that Scott is pretty much the sunshiny-est, happiest person he’s ever met who definitely didn’t deserve to have Peter fuck up his life Derek is talking _again_ , and Stiles doesn’t know whether to seethe over it or just shut up and listen for a while.

“I could tell right away,” Derek’s saying. “You were good and you were young and you didn’t need more problems, and you were so much like _her_ , but you weren’t as naïve or as clueless.” He takes a breath like he’s going to keep talking and Stiles takes the opportunity to butt in and say something.

“I’ve never been” – but before he can get around to explaining that he’s never really been _good_ or _innocent_ or whatever the rest of what Derek said occurs to him and he stops, thinking it over. “We’re not talking about Kate this time.” It’s a statement, but there’s a question beneath it. “Paige?”

Derek looks away, but he doesn’t argue. “You were like here. You are. Except she never knew as much as you do and never went through the same things.” He gets quieter after that, but Stiles is so surprised he doesn’t know what to say. “I killed you both.” And those last words are so quiet that Stiles barely catches them but when he does his breath hitches and he doubts that he heard right until he sees the look on Derek’s face.

“Well,” he says, sounding sadder than he meant and trying to fix that with his next words, “I’m still alive, so.”

Derek won’t even look at him now, and Stiles is burning to say something that will make everything better but he knows no words can do that now. The things Derek’s been through – the things they’ve both been through – were and are hellish and can’t be fixed with a few words. They need time to heal, and even then they still hurt. Stiles can only look at him for a little while before he sighs. “Derek . . .” When that gets no response, he tries again. “Derek?” It occurs to him that he’s doing what Derek did earlier and just repeating his name with the hope that Derek will come around, maybe even just to look at him without responding, but it doesn’t happen. So Stiles shuts up for a few seconds, figuring maybe Derek needs some space.

Except a few seconds of silence are apparently all he can handle because he busies himself wiping the extra moisture from his face but as soon as that’s done he’s talking again. “I’m sorry, okay? About being so stubborn and not listening to you most of the time. But you didn’t fuck up my life. Come on, dude, we’ve talked about this. If you’re gonna get depressed on me about _my_ life then I think I’m allowed a little annoyance. Sometimes it sucks, but not because of you. You . . . you made it better. Derek?” He adds Derek’s name at the end because the stupid sourwolf still hasn’t looked at him or given any sign that he’s even listening, and Stiles doesn’t know whether to be angry or hurt about that.

Eventually Derek moves, but then it’s just to clench and unclench his jaw. So Stiles looks away, fumbling with the shackle on his right wrist and thumbing gently over the edge of dark skin there where he’s bruised. It surprises him a little when Derek asks, “How’s your wrist?”

“They’re okay,” Stiles says automatically, without thinking about it. “Bruises’ll heal.”

And Derek visibly bristles out of the corner of his eye, so Stiles looks up, confused.

“They,” the older man says, sounding furious. But somehow the anger is obviously not directed at Stiles. “Because of me. I held on too tight.”

Stiles shrugs, but he’s trying for brushing it off carefully instead of just agreeing. It sounds like Derek’s pissed off at himself, and they really don’t need more of that at the moment. “No,” he says finally. Then he sighs and looks away, tilting his head from one side to the other as he tries to find the right words. “I mean, yeah, but you didn’t do it on purpose. And you needed something to hold onto. It’s okay.”

But Derek doesn’t seem placated. “I hurt you. I left _marks_.” And that seems to bother him even more than the idea of hurting Stiles in a roundabout way or accidentally getting him into dangerous situations. Which is worse than Stiles anticipated and definitely not something he wants to deal with right now. But it looks like he has to.

“It’s fine,” Stiles says defensively. “They’ll heal. And it’s not like you meant to do it. You didn’t hurt me, not really. It didn’t hurt then and it doesn’t hurt now.” That last part isn’t entirely true – when he moves the wrist that’s chained it aches a little and if he bumps his other wrist against something just the right way it hurts like hell – but Derek doesn’t need to know that. And Stiles thinks that maybe for once he’s gotten sort of good at lying because he doesn’t think his heartbeat jumps or anything and Derek doesn’t show any signs of noticing.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles rolls his eyes, slumping back against the stone wall and glaring up at the ceiling. He chews on his bottom lip, annoyed and trying to figure out how to express himself without hurting Derek or pissing him off, and eventually he just starts talking and hopes he doesn’t wind up doing both. “Enough with the apologies. They aren’t even relevant. And we’ve been doing a ton of apologizing over the last twelve or so hours. You especially. I’m done with them. Can we just stop? Apologizing? Unless it’s something really important?”

Derek makes an irked noise but Stiles doesn’t look at him until he says something. “The fact that I got you into this situation and you’ll probably die is important, Stiles.”

Stiles rolls his eyes again, letting his mouth hang open and his eyes widen in an exasperated expression. “N – dude. No. I mean like, _important_. As in one of us did something on purpose. That’s the only time it’s worth apologizing for. I’m pretty sure you didn’t mean for last night to end the way it did, so stop apologizing for it. You can’t exactly help that I’m your anchor, right? So don’t apologize for that either. And if you’re really sorry that we met then I guess, but I mean that wasn’t exactly in our control either, so . . .” he trails off, the ache that filled him earlier returning with full force now that he’s thinking about it and Derek’s words are echoing in his head.

He half expects Derek to say something, anything, in response. But he doesn’t. So Stiles rolls his shoulders back against the wall and drops his gaze to the floor, frowning and thinking over everything that’s happened.

When Derek does speak he sounds gruff, but in that I’m-on-the-verge-of-tears-and-that-makes-me-uncomfortable-so-I’m-hiding-it kind of way. “Fine. I’m sorry for apologizing for things I can’t control. And I didn’t mean it. When I said . . . that. I just meant you probably wouldn’t have had so many bad things happen to you if we’d never met.”

Stiles scoffs, feeling a broken but somehow still-amused laugh bubble up in his throat. “If I – we, because obviously when Scott meets someone I meet them too and vice versa – hadn’t ever met you then our lives would’ve been hell because we’d have had no idea how to deal with Peter. Or Jackson and Matt. Or any of it. You never fucked up my life. There were a lot of times when Scott and I – especially I – could have died but we didn’t because of you.”

Derek makes a quiet noise of acceptance. Or at least Stiles hopes it’s a quiet noise of acceptance. It might just be that he’s desperate and projecting.

And they’re quiet for a while, long enough that they’re totally silent when Kate walks in and looks between the two of them. “I’m getting some interesting vibes, guys,” she says, flashing another one of those smiles that Stiles can’t abide before strolling over to stand by him. She sticks out her bottom lip in a pout, raising her eyebrows and giving him a puppy dog look that has nothing on Scott but still somehow makes Stiles _almost_ want to sympathize with her or at least listen to what she has to say. “Are you and your alpha fighting?”

Stiles can’t help the frown that immediately takes over his face, because he isn’t sure what Kate’s implying and because of the way that she says it and because she just called Derek an alpha, even though he’s not. Not anymore. “Scott’s–” he starts to say, but she doesn’t let him continue, laughing and shaking her head.

“You are quite the paradox, aren’t you sweetie? Loyal to your best friend, the true alpha. But also loyal to _that_.” She looks at Derek as she says the last word, making a pitiful expression before looking back at Stiles. “And he’s not even an alpha anymore. Not really. But still you follow him around like some kind of lovesick puppy and let him get you into situations like this. I don’t understand. Are you that naïve?”

Stiles feels his whole body go tense, hating that she’s only bringing up what he and Derek were arguing about earlier and hoping that it won’t affect Derek at all. He also doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure whether he should feel offended and humiliated or just pissed off. He doesn’t follow Derek around. In fact he hadn’t even had very much contact with Derek at all for a long time, not until last night. The loyalty part of what Kate said is true, at least, though it’s the first time Stiles has ever really thought about it.

He tucks it away in the back of his mind with all of the other things he still needs to think about later, only now it’s occurring to him for the first time that it might be quite a while before he’d actually able to just sit back and sift through all of the stuff he needs to think about and more deeply consider. Preferably when he has the time and no one he knows or cares about is in any imminent danger. He might even be able to think about everything if Kate let Derek go and it was just Stiles waiting for his demise. He still gets scared sometimes, of course, and Kate can be pretty terrifying, but honestly at this point it doesn’t matter what happens to him so much anymore as long as everyone he cares about makes it out okay. Especially Derek.

“I–” He says, frowning and unsure. And then he finds the words. “I’m not like you. Or like them. I’m _human_. I don’t have to place myself as a beta or an omega or anything. I’m allowed to choose who I’m loyal to and who I’m not.”

Kate raises one eyebrow now, seeming to actually consider what Stiles just said. “Maybe,” she allows eventually, “but you’re still Scott’s. You’re his best friend. Human or no, you’re part of his pack.” Then she smiles that particular smile that always means she’s gearing up for some new dramatic revelation or moment, and Stiles sighs loudly and gazes at her indifferently, waiting. “The real question,” she goes on, either oblivious to Stiles’ reaction or intentionally choosing to ignore it, “is about Derek, though. Who does he belong to? He’s not the alpha, and we all know betas without an alpha eventually fall to omega status. So whose is he? Scott’s?” She pauses, searching Stiles’ face and confusing him because who else would Derek belong to? She tilts her head to the side, no longer smiling. “Yours?”

Stiles is taken aback, more than confused now. “Do you, like, not understand the way packs work?” he asks immediately, looking at Kate like she’s an idiot. “Alphas first, betas follow, omegas last and alone. Humans don’t really fall into any of those categories and alphas – and betas who used to be alphas – sure as hell never _belong_ to humans. What the hell?” He glances at Derek, but the werewolf gives him no confirmation. He splutters a little, suddenly unsure. “I don’t–” and then he just shakes his head, looking between Derek and Kate.

“Oh, _Stiles_ ,” Kate croons, reaching out and brushing her thumb over his cheek. He flinches away from the contact but she acts like she doesn’t notice. “I still have a lot to learn about all this but even _I_ know that there are instances when wolves defer to humans no matter what. That’s just how it works when there’s a specific bond going on.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows and tries to look confused, but it’s obvious that the game is up. Unless Kate is thinking along some kind of absurd lines and she hasn’t actually discovered them. That seems unlikely. She might be a bitch but she isn’t stupid. And that’s proven true a moment later.

“Anchors are pretty important, Stiles,” she continues, and Stiles can’t help the way he flinches every time she says his name. At least she isn’t touching him anymore. “Especially to those who have lost so much in the past and have trouble holding onto things now for fear of losing them.”

Stiles isn’t sure what’s more mind-blowing. The realization that Kate knows, and that she might know more about anchors or whatever is going on between Derek and Stiles than Stiles does, or the fact that Derek hasn’t said anything yet. Like, at all. He looks to the man again, trying to convey that he really needs someone else to do the talking because his mind is reeling and he’s not capable at the moment.

Kate chooses to walk towards Derek then, stopping in front of him and smiling sardonically. “I think I knew, when I first came back and had you on your knees. But I wasn’t sure. I should’ve gone with my gut.” She shakes her head like she can’t believe her own ignorance, and Stiles watches her with more hatred building up inside of him than before. “You said his name,” she says, sounding almost awed by it.

Stiles’ eyes fly to what he can see of Derek’s face at that, because this is a new piece of information he hasn’t heard before.

“You were out of it for a little while after I shot you, and you mumbled something. Just once, and I didn’t think I’d heard you right.” She’s still shaking her head. “I should have known.”

And still Derek says nothing, until Kate walks back over to Stiles and kneels down beside him. He’s eyeing her, not sure what she’s up to or what she has going on in that horrible twisted mind of hers, and not sure he can defend himself if she tries anything. Even if he isn’t dying anymore, it isn’t likely that Derek’s going to be able to get out of those chains and come to his rescue, and that leaves Stiles feeling a little nervous.

But Kate doesn’t pull any weapons or extend her claws or anything. She just reaches out and snags Stiles’ left wrist, the one that isn’t shackled, and squeezes. And if a surprised, pained noise escapes him and his whole body jolts with the intensity of the pain then well, hopefully no one is judging. Louder than the blood pounding in his ears and the somehow audible feeling of pain arching through his veins, though, is the snarl that rips out of Derek. And when Stiles looks over he’s totally wolfed out, blue eyes blazing and teeth elongated into fangs. And Derek is snarling, his hands claws as they struggle against the shackles holding him there. And yeah, Stiles has heard Derek roar before, has seen him wolfed out and angry, but never quite like this.

Derek looks livid. And absolutely carnal and beastly, like somehow he just lost every ounce of his humanity even though most of his body is still pretty human-looking. Stiles isn’t sure whether to be terrified or flattered or confused over what it means, but he jerks around to look at Kate again when she presses her thumb into the underside of his wrist, nail-first, and pain explodes through his hand and his arm again.

And Derek fucking _howls_. Like he’s furious but also like it’s hurting him too.

Stiles should be staring at Kate and paying attention to what she’s doing and what she might do next but he can’t tear his eyes away from the werewolf several feet away from him. Derek isn’t looking at him, all that fury and hatred and aggression obviously fixed on Kate, and even past his own pain Stiles has time to realize that his mouth is hanging open and he feels more awed and surprised than actually pained.

When Kate releases his wrist he actually sort of falls back against the wall, feeling exhausted and relieved all at once and automatically cradling his throbbing wrist in his other hand against his chest. Because it still hurts like hell, and he’s always hated letting anyone take his pain but right now he really wishes that Derek was close enough to do it because his whole body is practically throbbing along with his wrist and it sucks.

And Kate _laughs_ , loud and long and melodic and beautiful, and Stiles would glare at her hatefully if he wasn’t so caught up in everything he was already feeling. Besides, Derek seems to be doing enough hateful glaring for the both of them, so Stiles lets him handle that for now.

“Thought so,” she says, her voice quieter than Stiles anticipated. It can still be heard, though, because after she let go of Stiles Derek stopped growling and roaring and whatever other horrible and intimidating noises were tearing out of him and now he’s just there, glowering at her. His lips are pulled back in a snarl and Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever seen Derek looking so much like he’s completely lost control of himself.

“He’s fine,” Kate says a moment later, waving a dismissive hand and shaking her head. “And I won’t do any more experiments to see how deep the connection runs.” She smirks. “Not yet.” Her eyes flick between the two of them, Derek spread out where he’s chained up and tense like he wants nothing more than to lunge, and Stiles curled up against the wall and cradling his wrist against him like he’s a small child. Then she nods and glances at the door. “I’ll give you two some alone time before I come back to learn more.” When she smiles it’s blinding, and Stiles looks away, feeling ill. But she addresses him a moment later and he can’t help but look up. “You’re hungry, aren’t you? Derek’s body can handle it better than yours will. Maybe I’ll bring a little something for you to help with your appetite.”

Stiles isn’t sure if he should expect her to bring something gross and inedible as a cruel jape, but Kate actually seems like the kind of person who might feed her prisoners so they don’t die. Or the human ones, anyways. Stiles wonders if she ever fed Derek when she had him here before, however long ago that was.

She looks between them one more time and before making her exit, and before she’s even gone Stiles is staring at Derek again. Derek, who is still very much in beta form though also suddenly quiet and no longer snarling. Who also looks up and meets Stiles’ gaze. And Stiles doesn’t feel like flinching or looking away because all of the hatred is gone from Derek’s face, replaced by something softer that’s almost concerned.

“I’m fine,” Stiles says automatically, making a dismissive gesture with his hand and wincing at the sharp spike of pain that runs along his forearm when he does.

Derek just keeps staring at him, electric blue eyes fixed on his face and completely unwavering. Derek doesn’t even blink. Which is a little unnerving, but Stiles doesn’t let it bother him. He does look away, though, breathing out a little bit in relief now that Kate is gone and her latest episode of torture and bad ideas is over. For now.

He looks up every now and then to see if Derek is still staring and still shifted, and he always is. Eventually Stiles stops looking and he doesn’t know how long he stares dully at the floor and considers everything that just happened before Derek clears his throat and it sounds vaguely human. Stiles looks up again at that, almost surprised when Derek is perfectly human but still staring at him. And looking at him means that Derek has to tilt his head forward and turn it to see around where he’s strung up by his arms, and that just looks uncomfortable.

“You’re gonna get a crick in your neck,” Stiles comments quietly, not really sure what else to say and reverting to sarcasm and lousy jokes on instinct.

Derek snorts but he doesn’t look away, seeming to study Stiles’ expression for a few seconds before he finally does say something. “I’m sorry.”

And Stiles saw the words coming, saw that look on Derek’s face that he wears when he really means them. So as soon as they’re out of Derek’s mouth Stiles growls, “What did I say about apologies?”

Derek shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says again, but before Stiles can break in he continues, “if I scared you.”

And that’s so genuinely surprising that Stiles just widens his eyes and stares for a few seconds, his mouth slightly open. “I – what?”

Derek shrugs as much as his current position will allow, and only then does he look away. “I haven’t lost control like that since the fire, when I found out she was responsible.” He looks caught between embarrassed and concerned, like his loss of control is something to be ashamed of and he isn’t sure if he scared Stiles and that idea scares _him_.

“I’m okay,” Stiles says after a few seconds, making sure he doesn’t answer immediately so it doesn’t sound defensive. And he’s being honest. He hopes Derek can tell. “It still hurts, but that’s fading. And you didn’t – I mean I was surprised, but not scared. I knew you were mad at her, not me.”

Derek nods, but then he zeros in on Stiles’ hands. Or probably his wrist. “If I hadn’t left marks then she wouldn’t have been able to hurt you that way . . .” he starts, but Stiles sighs loudly and stops him right there.

“No. If you hadn’t left marks then she would’ve found some other way to hurt me, and it could’ve been a lot worse.”

Derek actually nods once, though his expression is kind of hard.

“So,” Stiles says after a few minutes of silence that isn’t quite uncomfortable but isn’t all that pleasant, either, “that’s kind of another thing Scott never mentioned when talking about anchors. The whole wolfing out and getting protective thing. I mean, if that’s what you were doing.” He clears his throat, suddenly worried that he’s said too much and he’s wrong. He might just be embarrassing himself by assuming.

“That’s what it was,” Derek says, and he’s still staring fixedly at Stiles’ wrist but his expression is clearer now, though still guarded. “He probably didn’t know. But I’m sure he had moments where Allison was in danger and he almost lost it. They didn’t –” He shook his head, like he wasn’t sure how to say what he was thinking or even if he should say it at all. “They were different. They hadn’t been through the same things that we . . .” he trailed off, sounding like he still wasn’t sure if this was real or he should even be saying this out loud. “Theirs was different,” he says again, breathing a little shakily and still refusing to look at Stiles’ face.

“Their what? Bond or something?” Stiles asks, maybe a little sarcastically because for some reason right now it feels awkward and forced when he and Derek are talking instead of natural like it’s felt before.

Derek’s eyes do snap up to his face then, and Stiles raises his eyebrows, realizing he might have just accidentally offended the older guy or said something he didn’t realize was important. By the look on Derek’s face it’s the latter.

“Oh. Right. Because we . . . yeah.”

Derek lets out a puff of air through his nose, almost a snort but not quite, but the effect is still the same.

Stiles feels slightly defensive. “What? Regretting the fact that of all the people it could have been it’s me?” He feels a hollow pressure in his chest, like if Derek agrees to that it’s going to hurt a lot more than he intended to set himself up for.

Derek keeps looking at him, but he looks annoyed. “Never,” he says firmly, and Stiles feels heat creeping into his cheeks and wonders how he’s even blushing in a situation like this.


End file.
